


I Dreamt of the Dragon, of the Ouroboros

by kicksomeacid



Category: Cowboy Bebop (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Couldn't get this idea out of my brain, Fix-It of Sorts, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Slow Burn, This Is My First Fanfic Ever Be Nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:35:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 81,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27696376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kicksomeacid/pseuds/kicksomeacid
Summary: For all of them, it really was the end. But then the dragon devoured itself. And they were right back at the beginning."'...I dreamt of the dragon, of the ouroboros.''What did it tell you?''Nothing.''It didn't speak?''It swallowed me.'"
Relationships: Jet Black & Ed & Spike Spiegel & Faye Valentine, Jet Black & Spike Spiegel, Julia/Spike Spiegel, Spike Spiegel & Faye Valentine, Spike Spiegel & Vicious, Spike Spiegel/Faye Valentine
Comments: 56
Kudos: 68





	1. No Thoughts, Head Empty

**Author's Note:**

> Hi this is my first fanfic EVER so hopefully it works out okay. Just finished watching Bebop and I keep coming back to this idea so I figured I would write it and see what happens.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faye doesn't think. Not even when it's necessary.

_Jesus Christ,_ Faye thought. _I'm right back where I fucking started. All that self-discovery, just to find myself at the poker table once again._ At least this time she was winning. By a lot, actually. Enough to distract her from the depressing cycle her life had become. After...everything, she couldn't stay on the Bebop, despite Jet's assurances that she was welcome, claims that they worked better as a team, and, finally, protests at her leaving. So she left—left Jet, her ship, Mars, and anything else that reminded her even remotely of what she would now forever deny were the best and brightest few months of her life.

The next year passed in a blur of bounty hunts, gambling binges, and elaborate cons. Faye figured she would have felt lonely, if she had stopped for even a moment to think about why. But she was avoiding all of that. That was packed away in a mental box marked “Explosive: Do Not Touch.” So she didn't. And honestly, she was better off for it. Her life was still exciting, still fun, still _Faye._ She had been on her own before, and now she was again, it was as simple as that. Really, she was doing fine, although sometimes she did wonder about Ed. Hoping she still had that furball of a dog, still singing her bizarre little songs. Hoping she found where she belonged.

Faye allowed herself these thoughts because thinking of Ed made her smile. She had only thought of Jet and the Bebop once, when the bell peppers and beef she ordered came without beef, and it made her cry. She told herself she was crying over the incompetency of the food service industry, but both she and the bell peppers knew she was lying.

She never thought of Spike. Faye didn't know what that would make her do.

And yet, as she sat at the table, in that goddamn casino orbiting Mars, she couldn't help the memory that slipped through—the one of a special chip, a withheld tip, and the aftermath. Because of course she ended back at _Spiders From Mars._ She didn't mean to, but it just happened; her natural trajectory cutting similar patterns across the universe. _To be fair,_ Faye reasoned, _my lifestyle only really works within certain parameters._ Parameters that currently involved scamming the house. Her plan to go somewhere tropical for the winter wouldn't pay for itself, after all.

So Faye cheated at cards and won more money and didn't think about things. This was as much a part of her routine as anything else, location be damned. If anything, she felt a little more satisfied as she left the table, a cool 2 million woolongs worth of chips in her hands. _About time I got back at them. Fuck this place hard._ She marched up to the cage and dumped her chips in front of the teller.

“I'd like to cash out.” _And then get the hell out._

The teller cocked an eyebrow, impressed. Faye smirked. _Still got it._

“I'd love to help you with that, but I'm afraid I don't have enough money up here with me.” He stood. “If you come downstairs, I'm sure we can get this sorted for you.”

Faye shrugged, and followed the teller through the double doors at the back of the room. She knew where they were going, down to the walk-in safe that contained more stores of woolongs than Faye could ever hope to make in even 3 lifetimes. Other casinos did digital transfer, but she remembered from her time aboard that _Spiders From Mars_ tended to draw crowds that strongly preferred untraceable cash. Still, it gave her pause that they needed to access the safe; she remembered the floor circulating at least 10 million woolong at any given time.

It stopped her dead in her tracks when she realized they had turned left, not right, at the bottom of the stairs. Going away from the safe. _And away from my money. Shit._ The whole no-thinking thing was great, but it was really started to affect her awareness. 

“Hey, isn't the safe that way?” she asked, arms crossed.

“Yes, ma'am, it is. If you'll follow me this way, please,” the teller replied. Faye sighed in annoyance—this was turning into a real nuisance. The back of her neck prickled, and she turned to find two huge security guards blocking her path. Faye weighed her options; try to take on these lunkheads and this beanpole of a teller, or go with the flow and hopefully get her hard-won woolongs. _When it comes to tough choices, always choose money. Even if it's not an option._ That was one of Faye's favorite sayings, albeit she was the one who said it. Either way, it was her personal mantra, right behind _survival of the fittest_. _So let's follow the teller. What's the worst that can happen?_

Faye trailed after the teller until they reached a door at the end of the hall, which he opened. She felt a firm hand on her back, but when she tried to squirm away, it shoved her roughly through the doorway. When the door slammed behind her and she was plunged into darkness, she wanted to kick herself. _That's pretty bad, you fucking idiot. Survival of the fittest, my ass._

A sputtering light filled the room, a single lightbulb with a dangling chain. Underneath it stood a nondescript man in a suit, but something in his face told Faye he was not as bland as he looked. She'd become an expert in spotting danger.

“Hello, Faye Valentine,” he said. “I understand you've had quite the run at our tables tonight.”

“How do you know my name?” Faye questioned sharply.

“Well, you don't exactly keep a low profile.” She quirked an eyebrow. He responded with a wry smile. “And you're still in the employee system.” 

_Fuck this place_ **_extra_ ** _hard._

“What's the holdup with my money? Do you not have enough in the safe?” She was getting impatient, not to mention nervous. None of this was going to plan.

“No, no, it’s nothing like that. We just have policies in place that strongly frown upon cheating.”

“Cheating?” she sputtered, trying to act nonplussed. “You're accusing me of cheating? Jesus Christ, a woman gets one streak of good luck and you-”

“Let me save you the trouble of a denial,” he interrupted. “Our dealer noticed you almost immediately. Really, hiding cards is an amateur move. I expected better from a former employee of this very casino. Not to mention you don't seem to have many options with that.” He ran a critical gaze over her black mini. She wanted to be furious, but he was right. With no sleeves or pockets, she had taken to shoving cards under her leg as surreptitiously as she could, but she had been sloppy. Clearly, the no-thinking plan needed to be trashed ASAP.Still, say this about Faye, she knew when she was had.

“So are you saying I'm not getting my money?”

He gave a huff of laughter. “No. Certainly not.”

“Well,” Faye said, and clapped her hands together, “I guess I'll be on my way.” She backed up slowly, silently praying the door was unlocked.

“Actually-”

“I know, I know,” she cut in, “I'm banned for life. I promise you'll never see me again. And honestly, that's a-okay with me, really! I hated working here and my boss hated me, so he'll be happy I'm gone anyway, so really, it's totally fine that I won't be coming back; it's actually the best of both worlds...” she rambled, hand scrabbling at the doorknob. _Locked. Shit._ The whole situation was really starting to freak her out. And she didn't have any backup, not anymore...

“ _Actually,_ ” he continued, “I was going to say that it doesn't really work like that anymore. New management came with new protocols, you know, typically corporate turnover.” He sighed. “Personally, I don't think 2 million is really worth all the trouble. But they frown upon people stealing from them in any capacity, I guess.”

Faye gaped at him. Her head was empty. No thoughts. “New management?” 

“The Red Dragon Syndicate, of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's the first chapter! Don't want to spoil too much but maybe you can figure out what's going to bring the crew together again. Please leave comments/questions!


	2. My Only Living Friends Are Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Faye doesn't think at all, Jet thinks too much.

_Son of a bitch,_ Jet thought. _I'm right back where I fucking started. Surprised I could even get back into this._ He knew that if he thanked Bob every day for the rest of his life, it still wouldn't cover it. Jet had his own connections, but it was Bob's full-scale assault on the force's HR department that got him back into the ISSP. He needed this job, needed the steady onslaught of work it provided, the obligation to tail, chase, arrest, then rinse and repeat.

When Faye left, he was mad. Mostly because there was nothing he could do to stop her. They both agreed the things that tied them to the Bebop were gone. The people too, but they would never admit that to one another. So she left, and Jet was alone. No Faye, no Ed, no Ein. They were all spread across a universe so wide they might as well be dead.

And no Spike. He _was_ dead.

Jet and Faye had seen it on the news: several explosions in a Tharsis high-rise that collapsed and left no survivors. The city spent 6 months cleaning up the debris. Jet was one of the demolition workers, joining as soon as his bum leg would allow. He told himself it was a job with dual benefits; he could get paid and work out his constant anger. But no matter how hard he swung his sledgehammer, he couldn't get rid of that gnawing fury, or the fluttering hope beneath it.

Because, despite it all, Jet still hoped. At first, he hoped Spike was alive under the wreckage. Then, he hoped to find Spike's body. But nothing showed. The few bodies they did recover were crushed and burned beyond recognition. At that point, Jet just hoped none of them were Spike. Still, what if some of that mangled flesh had been his friend? They'd thrown everything into the crematorium, the unknown identities mingling into one grey pile of ash. Jet had never asked Spike how he wanted to be buried, he hadn't thought to. Those aren't the types of questions you ask your friend, certainly not one who's younger than you and especially not one who's cheated death before.

But those were the types of things Jet mulled over at night, bone tired from the work site but mind whirring like a ship in hyperspace. How _would_ Spike want to be buried? Next to Julia? Jet didn't know where she was buried, much less if she even was. It struck him as strange that he had never even seen her, Spike's woman. But then again, that was Spike, secretive and stubborn to the end. That's why he was fucking dead. _Never let me help you do shit, you jackass. And now you won't let me sleep._ And boy, did Jet want to sleep. All he wanted was to be unconscious for as long as possible, because at least when he was asleep, he didn't have to handle the Bebop's echoing silence. There were no longer any songs from Ed, no barking from Ein, no complaints from Faye. And nothing at all from Spike. Not a word.

 _What was the last thing he said to me?_ It worried Jet that he'd forgotten already. The hazes of memory had descended, leaving him with only a vague recollection of the story Spike had told him, and of the gunshots from Faye that followed, because everything between the two of them was always a goddamn confrontation. The clearest thing he remembered was he and Spike, laughing together for the very last time. And they both knew it. 

That was another thing that worried Jet—that this still hurt so badly, even though he knew it was coming. He got to say goodbye. He tried to fight it, but Spike had made up his mind to end it all and you can't have a friendship with a dead man. But he couldn’t. Stop. Thinking. It was in his head constantly, a running loop of what he'd lost. All he had left were his ship and his arm and both of those were falling apart. 

When the site closed down and he was out of a job, Jet took stock, and decided he couldn't stay in that fucking city for even one second longer. He had just enough fuel to make it to Ganymede, which under normal circumstances would bother him, but he was just glad to leave Mars behind. It didn't take him long to settle into a routine, doing odd jobs for easy cash—mechanical repairs, a few bounties, even selling one of his precious bonsai trees to a very appreciative buyer. All the woolongs he made went straight back into the Bebop. If Jet was less of a masochist, he might have sold it for parts, but the junky old ship was as much a part of him as his junky old arm. He couldn't get rid of it; painful memories be damned. _Better to have and to hurt,_ he reasoned, _than to let go and forget._

And so Jet made repairs, groomed his bonsai trees, and remembered. All alone and always lonely.

So when Bob made contact ten weeks in, Jet was ready to jump at whatever his friend offered. Even if that meant becoming a cop again, even if it meant working for one of the most corrupt establishments in the galaxy. _Honor be damned. My principles blew up with that skyscraper. Anything to get me going again._ He'd said yes before Bob could even finish. It took another week for Bob to pull the necessary strings; just enough time for Jet to finish repairs on the Bebop. It was only a coincidence that Bob had called, he'd had no idea what was going on with Jet, and that he'd thrown him a serious lifeline. Turns out Bob needed Jet, needed the Black Dog, for a sting they were running on a local drug ring. Red Eye dealers, suddenly flush with vials of a way higher concentrate than anything Ganymede had seen before. Bob had his theories, but none had proven useful. Jet was a last resort. Maybe that should have hurt Jet's feelings, but it didn't. Business was business, and even with police work.

Jet had spent the last three months infiltrating the syndicate, his identity left unquestioned when he showed them his arm and told them it was a souvenir from a cop. Not a lie, just not the full truth. All the punks in this gang were still in diapers when he was working for the ISSP anyway. The syndicate had been a small-time operation until recently, now going off-world for reups and what seemed to be covert payments. Jet suspected the group had made an alliance, combining power in order to survive the tide of bureaucracy that was suffocating local syndicates and their violent ways of doing business.

But when he was called for his first reup operation on Mars, that idea changed. The syndicate wasn't allied, it was most likely owned. He should have known they were headed for trouble, but Jet was still the Black Dog. _When I bite, I don't let go_. So he went, even if that meant going back to Mars. Back to _Tharsis_ apparently, he realized when they landed. _Fuck you, Spike,_ he thought offhandedly. That kid had taken over so much of his life and ruined even more of it.

The city put him on edge, not just because of the op. He felt like someone was watching him at every turn, lurking in the shadows of every corner. _Get a grip,_ he cautioned. _Forget the past, remember?_

If only it was that easy. The deal went off without a hitch, despite his associate's amateur posturing. The syndicate had a rule about asking questions; you don't. And Jet wasn't about to get caught from a rookie mistake like that. So he followed procedure, letting his partner take the lead. Kept his mouth shut and his eyes open, business as usual. Until he heard their supplier whisper, and it was all he could do to remain calm.

“The Red Dragon thanks you for your business.”

Jet's heart raced as he fought to keep control. Last he heard, the Red Dragon Syndicate was no more, all of them ground into tiny pieces under tons of rubble. _But you haven't been back here in a while, and you haven't exactly been keeping your ear to the ground._ He cursed himself for avoiding all reports of Tharsis for the last six months. Jet sized up the supplier before he disappeared down the alley.

He was young, younger than the typical toughs he remembered from his few interactions with the Red Dragon. _All of those guys are dead anyway. The old guard makes way for the new._ It didn't surprise him, that some young kid stepped over the ashes with the syndicate's name in his fist. That's how things went with gangs, rising one day, falling the next. Jet had seen it enough times to know. Still, he felt a stab of anger, these upstarts bastardizing something Spike had been a part of. Then he felt guilty for being angry. Spike had hated his life in the syndicate; he had died once getting out, and died a million times after that, until the last time he died, and it finally stuck. 

Jet just wanted to get the hell off Mars. His partner seemed to agree; he punched the accelerator as soon as Jet closed the car door. “Slow down!” Jet ordered. “There's a red light up ahead!” His partner just laughed, young and stupid and full of adrenaline. “

If you don't slow down,” Jet warned, “we could get picked up by the cops. You want to be the one to explain the 10 boxes of juiced-up Red Eye we've got in the trunk?”

That sobered him up, and he finally put pressure on the brake. They slammed to a halt at the intersection and Jet swore, hoping none of the vials had broken. The crosswalk in front of them suddenly streamed with people, and Jet said a silent prayer of thanks that they hadn't blown through the traffic light. He really didn't want to add manslaughter to his growing list of felonies, even if it was in service of the ISSP.

The two men sat in the car, his partner drumming his fingers impatiently. Jet slumped back in his seat and watched the people stepping out onto the street. A woman with a baby carriage, a man walking three dogs, a group of schoolgirls, a tall man in a suit, an elderly couple-

Jet shot up, his eyes glued to the figure that was moving closer and closer, and not willing to believe what he was seeing. But he would know that ambling walk, that mop of hair, and those damn weird eyes just about anywhere. Especially here. The man moved past their windshield, and Jet, in a strangled voice, called out.

“Spike?”

He looked back at Jet, recognition flickering in his features. Then the light turned green. And he disappeared.

Jet sat, stunned, as their car sped along the road. He had seen Spike. He had seen Spike _alive._ And nothing about him had changed. Except his eyes, Jet realized. They were still two colors.

But they were filled with shame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whaaaa? Spike alive? you already figured that from the tags? whatever I'm running with it. Debating on whether I should write Spike's chapter next or wait and build some suspense for wtf he's doing now.


	3. Diamond Girl vs. The Great Beyond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faye works with what she's got, even if that means doing actual work. She also finds her pager.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New update-this chapter ended up being waaay longer than I planned, but I kept writing it and had to keep explaining things. All part of the process! We're slowly moving along but I've got some stuff I'm very excited to add to the story in the coming chapters.

Faye was back on the Bebop, lying on the couch and letting Ed paint her nails. She could hear Jet in the kitchen as he tried to cook something he could feasibly call dinner. She glanced down at her hand, now covered in electric blue polish, and bit back a groan. Faye closed her eyes. Maybe if she fell asleep, she would dream the nail polish was anything other than blue. She felt a hand on her legs and let out a yelp. In one deft movement, she was swirled into a sitting position and Spike dropped down beside her on the couch. She felt him staring at her, so she turned to glare at him.

“What?” she asked, irritated. The man was here for .03 seconds and had already annoyed her. Why couldn't he sit anywhere else on the ship? There was another chair not 5 feet from them. She opened her mouth to say so, but then realized Spike had yet to reply.

“What?” she repeated with a huff. He was still staring at her, and it was starting to get weird. Those eyes freaked her out sometimes. She looked away, back at her nails.

And realized Ed was gone. Jet too, the kitchen standing silent and dark. _Now it's getting really weird,_ she thought. She turned back to Spike, about to tell him off for being a pervy creep, but the words died in her throat.

Because Spike was still looking at her, but tears were pouring down his face.

Faye was frozen in shock. Spike Spiegel was crying, honest-to-god _crying,_ in front of her. _Okay, Valentine, don't freak out. People cry all the time. What would someone do in this totally normal situation?_ She couldn't come up with a single good answer. _This_ situation was way beyond normal.

“Spike?” she asked softly. “Are you okay?”

He opened his mouth to answer.

_BEEP._

Faye's eyes narrowed. “Sorry?”

Spike tried again.

_BEEP._

He shook his head, frustrated.

_BEEP._

Faye reflected that this would be hilarious under different circumstances, but the seriousness of Spike shedding real, human, non-factory-produced tears kept her in check.

_BEEP._

Okay, this was a little hilarious.

_BEEP._

He exhaled angrily and gripped the edges of the couch in an effort to stay calm.

_BEEP._

_BEEP._

_BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP._

Faye jolted awake.

_Who the FUCK is calling me right now?_

It couldn't be anyone from the bar, she had just left there. It also wouldn't be the guy who was hitting on her two nights ago, because the number she gave him was fake. The woolongs she nicked from his wallet were very real though. She rose with a sigh and stumbled over to the phone, only to realize it wasn't ringing. The incessant beeping seemed to be coming from the closet, where her one bag was shoved haphazardly behind the door.

 _Who the fuck is PAGING me right now?_

Faye hadn't used the pager in ages, not since before she left the Bebop. The only reason she still had it was because it had gotten stuck in the lining of her bag and she had only noticed in the past week. 

She heard Lola grumble from the other room, unhappy about the noise that must have woken her as well. Faye threw open the closet door and reached blindly into her bag, rummaging for a few seconds before her fingers grasped the pager and finally silenced it. With the shitty little thing in hand, she climbed back into bed. Her foot skidded on the floor as she stepped over her wig, and she scowled. The wig, without a doubt, was the worst thing to come out of her altercation with the Red Dragon.

When the man at the casino had her locked in that room, she was worried she might be killed for her little stunt. Instead, she was taken back to the surface of Mars, to _(of fucking course)_ Tharsis, where she was handed off to yet another man in a suit. When he took her to a hotel room, she _knew_ she was going to be killed. But he had just pointed to the bed and said “Sleep.” 

So she had, and tried not to think that she might never wake up. But she did—to a fruit salad and a cup of coffee, no less. The man in the suit let her eat, but refused to answer any of the questions she asked. When she turned to insults, he just smiled. After her breakfast in bed, he escorted her firmly out of the hotel and into a waiting car. He drove, weaving expertly through traffic until they pulled up to what looked like a bar, a neon sign flashing the words “Gem Girls.” _Oh, real classy,_ Faye thought as they walked inside.

 _Cheap_ might have been a better description. The place reeked of smoke, and every surface seemed to be stuck in that perpetual state of smudged and dirty, no matter how many times you wiped it down. The back wall boasted an assortment of what Faye could only imagine were some of the worst liquors this side of Mars. The whole place looked like if you asked a thirteen-year-old to describe their idea of a “swanky joint.” Walking behind the bar, the still-nameless man motioned for her to sit down. “What are you drinking?” he asked.

“A mojito, if you can.” _Never mind that it’s 10 in the morning._ Besides, a mojito was the most complicated cocktail she could think of. Last time she had ordered one, it took 20 minutes, and the bartender had complained the entire time. He hadn't even used good rum.

But the man in the suit just smiled his irritating smile and got to work gathering up ingredients. Faye sat down on a barstool to watch. A strangely companionable silence settled over them until he finished, pouring the drink into a tall glass. He topped it off with a mint leaf and a straw and slid it across the bar. She took a cautious sip. _Delicious,_ she thought. _But there's no way I'm telling him that._ So she just shrugged. He didn't seem to mind. _Jesus, this guy is a wall._

“To business then,” he said. “First, I'll introduce myself. My name is Haru and I own this little establishment. I understand you've had a run-in with the folks at _Spiders From Mars,_ which involves, if I'm not mistaken, a theft of two million woolongs. Like you probably know, they're now under management from the Red Dragon. We are too. It's been arranged for you to work here until you pay off your debts to the syndicate. I was looking for a new girl and that casino manager contacted me. Must have seen my post on the message board...”

Faye looked up, baffled. “You have a syndicate message board?”

Haru chuckled. “More like a local business message board. We're all connected through the syndicate, but they typically stay out of our affairs and we sure as hell stay out of theirs.”

“So what exactly am I supposed to do here? Sling drinks to sleazy patrons?” she asked derisively.

“Yes and no. Originally this was a bar. When the Red Dragon came in, it became an information mill. Our job is to keep an ear out for what people on the street are saying. Listen for secrets and such.”

“Oh boy,” Faye said sarcastically. “It's always been my dream to play spy.”

Haru laughed again. It was starting to annoy Faye; she didn't find any of this particularly amusing. “If you want to call it that, sure. I'll start you out slow, have someone show you the ropes. It can be quite fun when you get the hang of it.”

_Yeah, a real fucking party._

Faye lifted her chin. “And what's stopping me from telling you to go fuck yourself and waltzing out the door?”

“Well, for one,” he replied, “that wouldn't be very nice. And two, the syndicate would hunt you down and kill you before you could get off Mars.” Faye narrowed her eyes, considering. “I really would stick around if I were you,” Haru continued. “The Red Dragon doesn't really give second chances. You already stole from them once, so don't push your luck.”

“But I didn't even get my money!” Faye protested. “I didn't actually _steal_ anything!”

Haru frowned. “Yes, but you tried.” The front door opened with a bang, and a young woman with bright red hair came dashing into the room.

“Hi, Haru, sorry I'm late! Oh, is this the new girl? She's _gorgeous._ What are you drinking, a mojito? Haru, can I have one of those? Wow, I'm so glad you're here. Honestly, the girl that just left was a real bitch, so glad she's gone. But you seem much cooler already. I love your outfit, you've got some serious style! You're going to fit right in, I can tell. And don't worry about the first couple days, I'm happy to help! Seriously, any question you have, just ask me. We're all good friends around here, we're like a little family. So welcome to the Gem Girls! Oh, shit, I'm Lola, by the way, Lola Stettz.”

She stuck out her hand for Faye to shake. Haru gave his annoying laugh yet again, and turned to start on a fresh mojito for Lola. Faye stared at her dazedly, shocked that she'd finally met someone who talked more than Ed.

She reached for Lola's hand and shook it. “Hi, I'm Faye Valentine.”

“Oh, wow," Lola breathed. “That is _beautiful._ You sound like a movie star.” 

_Hmph, never heard **that** one before. _

Haru spoke up from behind the bar. “Yeah, Faye, I brought Lola in early today to help you get settled. She'll show you around and get you ready for tonight.”

“Tonight?” Faye asked.

“Yes, for your first shift. Gotta start somewhere with that two million.” He handed Lola's mojito over to her. “Show her the back and brief her on the costume; we might need to make alterations but it should be fine for tonight.”

_Costume? If it’s blue, I swear to God._

Then Lola's hand tugged on hers, pulling her off her seat and dragging her towards a door at the back marked “The Vault.”

“The Vault?” she questioned.

“Because we're the gems,” Lola explained, grinning widely. _God, she smiles even more than Haru._ But for some reason she found it wasn't so annoying.

The back room consisted of a few old-style vanity mirrors, covered in lipstick kisses; a row of dented lockers; a dripping sink; and a no-doubt grimy bathroom stall. Lola took a noisy sip from her drink.

“So! The basics. We have 12 girls counting you, plus Haru, he owns the place but he's also the bartender, and as you can see he's _really_ good at it. During weekdays we usually have about 6 girls but then on weekends we go anywhere from 8 to all 12. Those nights are really fun though, plus the tips when it gets crowded are a-maaaaz-ing. And over here we have-”

“Tips?” Faye interrupted. 

“Yeah,” Lola said. “We get to keep any tips we make; our actual pay goes right back to the syndicate. That's why working weekends are great, the guys typically get drunker and they're looser with their woolongs.” She winked.

“You owe money to the Red Dragon?” Faye asked. She was surprised, Lola didn't seem the type. _Oh, relax. You've known this girl for 5 minutes._

“Everyone who works here does, except Haru. But honestly, it's a pretty good gig. Way better than what I was doing before.”

“Yeah, except you're at the mercy of a crime syndicate.”

Lola laughed. “Maybe so, but they give us a place to live and plenty of food to eat, and that’s enough for me. Plus, we almost never see people from the Red Dragon anyway, at least not the very dangerous ones. They have a real 'don't ask, don't tell' policy when it comes to their business.”

“Wait,” Faye said. “The _syndicate_ pays for your food? And your apartment?”

“Well, I wouldn't exactly call it an _apartment_ but, yeah. They have a building a couple blocks from here that houses a lot of DWs. That stands for debt worker by the way; that's what you and I are. I heard Haru say you owe two million.” She whistled. “I don't think I've met anyone with a number _that_ high before.”

“What can I say, I'm one of a kind,” Faye replied drily. “How hard is it to pay off your debt in a place like this?”

“It's not too bad,” Lola said. “The pay structure really depends on how hard you work. You can chip away at it by getting a lot of hours in, but sometimes we get sincoms and those are usually worth a good chunk of woolongs. Information pays, ya know?”

“Sincoms?”

“Syndicate communications. Sometimes they'll send us a message if there's something specific they're looking for; it might be a person, or a bank account number, or a password—lots of different stuff. Basically, if you're the one to find out, you send it back and however much that information is worth goes towards your debt payment. We all see the message, so it gets really competitive. I've only gotten two before but it's still fun. It's kind of like a game.”

Faye quirked an eyebrow. “I like games.”

Lola nodded. “See, I _knew_ you'd fit in here. Okay, so let me show you the costume.” She opened a locker at the end of the row. “This was Margo's before she left. She's shorter than you but I think it should be okay.”

 _Costume_ was a strong word. Lola handed her a pair of black mini shorts, a black sequined tube top, and a ridiculous pair of black thigh-high boots. The heel on those were killer, and Faye already knew they would be a pain in the ass. Still, the whole ensemble wasn’t too bad. But then Lola pulled out the wig.

“And this!” It was a silvery-white monstrosity, hacked into a bob with blunt bangs.

Faye crossed her arms. “There's no way I'm wearing that.”

“But you have to,” Lola pouted. “We all do, I'm Emerald, my wig is green. And you're Diamond, so...” she held it out for Faye to take. 

“Fine.” She grabbed the hideous thing and stalked into the bathroom stall. Grimy, just as she suspected. Wiggling into the outfit, she took a moment to breathe. Her life had just done a complete 180 in less than a day. Still, she felt a little prick of excitement. Because this, whatever it was, could be much different than anything else she'd done. And God forbid she kept repeating the past.

“I can help you with the wig,” Lola said from outside the stall. “We actually have these tiny little recording devices we hide in the lining, so we can go back and analyze what we can send over to the Red Dragon.”

Faye emerged, a little unsteady on the towering heels. “Oh my god,” Lola gushed. “You look so good! You're going to get so many tips; I already know it. Here, sit.” Faye plopped down in front of a vanity mirror with “Lola” scrawled across the top in a garish green lipstick.

She examined the mirror as Lola worked. A few old reminders, a birthday card, and a picture were all tucked into the frame. The picture was of a serious-looking young man in a long coat. _Too bland for my taste. But handsome._ She recognized the coat though, a staple of the Red Dragon Syndicate.

“Who's that?” She tapped the photo with a fingernail.

Lola blushed and gave a shy smile. “My boyfriend. We met here, actually; he came to pick up a sincom. It was one of the ones I won so I was telling him about it and then, I don't know, I guess we just hit it off. He's amazing. You'll probably meet him sooner or later, sometimes he stops by while I'm on a shift.”

“It doesn't bother you, him working for the syndicate?” Faye asked. _Why do I care? Whatever. Anything to distract me from this wig._

“No, not really. I'm already involved with them anyway, so might as well be all in.” Lola shrugged. “There, all done!

Faye didn't want to look. But she had to. And immediately wished she hadn’t.

Faye Valentine was a vain creature, she'd be the first to admit it, and this wig just did not work. _Although if it can't work on me, it probably can't on anyone._ That made her feel a little better. She opened her mouth to protest, but Lola looked so happy in the mirror's reflection that she decided it might be okay to keep her thoughts to herself. Lola went back to the locker and grabbed a little black box before presenting it to Faye at the vanity. “Finishing touches! Then we'll go show Haru.”

The box contained earrings, a necklace, and two bracelets, all made from clearly worn and clearly fake diamonds. She put them on and gave herself a final look in the mirror. _Why did I have to be Diamond?_

That had been three weeks ago. Since her first day, Faye had settled easily into a routine with her fellow Gem Girls. Lola wasn't kidding about the “apartment,” it was more like commune. But it was free, and so was her food, if you considered “you have no money anyway because we control all of it,” free.

Still, life could be, and had been, a lot worse. She had gotten her first sincom a week ago, coming in for a staff meeting in the Vault. Haru was holding a pager in his hands.

“Okay ladies, we'll be running a recruit sting tonight, so be sure to get full names.”

“A recruit sting?” Faye asked Lola afterwards. “What are we, cops?”

Lola laughed. “No, a recruit sting means they're inducting fresh members into the Red Dragon. The new guys will be coming here tonight; they think they're on the syndicate's dime, so they'll be spending a _lot_. It's our job to get them wasted and then try to pump them for information.”

“What kind of information?”

“Anything, really. This is more a loyalty test than anything, but sometimes if you get a useful soundbite you can get the syndicate to take it.”

She hadn't gotten anything good that night, unfortunately. _It's that damn wig._ And maybe it was, but she also felt weird anytime she saw someone from the syndicate. Thoughts of Spike lurked at the corners of her mind, memories she didn't want to explore. Vicious was in the shadows too, one of the only people who had truly scared her before.

So, she was a little off her game, sue her.

That might explain why she was so uneasy meeting Lola's boyfriend last night. That syndicate coat put her on edge almost immediately, despite his gentle demeanor. After her shift, Faye sat down beside them at the bar, noting the easy way they leaned into each other, the way his arms held her loosely but with tenderness. _Haven't had anything like that in a while, have we? Jesus, lonely brain, shut up._

“Baby, this is my friend Faye I've been telling you about,” Lola said with an excited smile. Faye knew she had been dying for this moment, the, as she put it, “Great Convergence of Her Two Favorite People.” Lola was really weird sometimes. Not Ed-level weird, but still.

“Hello, Faye.” Lola's boyfriend extended his hand. “I'm Shin.” Faye shook it cautiously. “Relax,” he laughed softly. “I won't bite.” 

“Yeah, Faye,” Lola added. “Don't worry about it, he never talks about syndicate stuff or anything. Shin's really good about that.”

“Loyal through and through, huh?” Faye asked skeptically.

He gave a dry smile. “Something like that.”

Lola scoffed. “‘Something like that.’ Baby, you are the most loyal person they've got!” She leaned in towards Faye. “He was in that explosion from a year ago, the one at the old headquarters. He barely made it out alive, but he fought like crazy to keep going, and then joined back up as soon as he could. If that's not loyalty I don't know what is!”

Shin rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed.

“You were in that explosion?” Faye asked. He nodded. “Any chance you knew a guy named Spike Spiegel?”

He tilted his head, searching her face. “Yeah,” he said evenly. “I know Spike.”

Her heart was beating faster. _Why?_

His phone rang, sharp and loud against the hazy atmosphere. “Excuse me,” he said. “I have to deal with this.” Giving Lola a kiss and murmuring a quick goodbye, he slipped out of the bar and was gone. Faye stared dumbly after him. She had just met someone from the past, a time she had vowed to never look back on. And she had asked about Spike. _God, I need a drink._

She turned to Lola. “Shots.”

Lola cheered.

A few hours and a lot of tequila shots later, the pair made it back to their apartment, collapsing immediately onto their beds, fully clothed. Faye shut her eyes, then opened them. She reached a hand up and ripped off the offending wig before hurling it to the floor.

Which is how she tripped over it, just now, getting back into bed with her pager. _That fucking wig. It's the root of all my problems._ She was going to light it on fire one of these days.

Settling under the covers once again, she read the message, from a number she recognized as Jet's. 

_< I saw Spike.>_

Her fingers pressed the call button before her brain could react.

“Hello?” Jet's gruff voice rang out into the room. “Faye?”

“I didn't know you were doing seances now, Jet. Did Spike's ghost have anything interesting to say?”

“I saw him, Faye. _Alive._ ”

“Did you talk to him?”

“No, I didn't have any time.”

“What's that mean?”

“Well, I was in a car, but I saw him crossing the street.”

“…Sure you did.”

“I'm serious! He was there, he turned and looked at me!”

“Jet, I'm only asking this because I care about you...”

“Yeah?”

“Should you be on medication?”

“I know what I saw, Faye! He's alive, and he's in Tharsis.”

“You're in Tharsis?”

“No, not anymore. But I was and I saw him. I know I did, and I'm going to find that idiot again. I was just calling to tell you.”

“What do you want me to do about it?”

“Whatever the hell you want, Faye, I just thought you should know.”

“Okay Jet, thanks for letting me know. I'm now fully aware of your psychotic break and that you've begun hallucinating friends because you don't have any.”

“Fuck you, Faye...you're alone too, you know.”

He hung up, and Faye let the pager slip from her fingers. 

_I saw Spike._

_I saw him, Faye, **alive.**_

_Shut up. He's crazy. He's a lonely old man and he's losing it._

_You're alone too, you know._

She sighed and put her head in her hands. There was no way. She wouldn't think about it, she _couldn't_ think about it. Still, what if it was true?

_Any chance you knew a guy named Spike Spiegel?_

_Yeah, I know Spike._

_I know Spike._

_I **know.**_

So maybe, just maybe, she could think about it. A little bit. Enough to hope. Enough to stay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's curtains on Chapter 3, definitely longer than I expected! Hmmm, what could Faye's dream mean? If Spike and Shin are alive, who else could have survived ;) ? Is Faye going to stick around or get the hell out of dodge? Is she going to look for Spike? 
> 
> Let me know what you guys thought!
> 
> Working on the next chapter right now and I can guarantee some Spike content that actually occurs on the physical plane so look forward to that.


	4. Red Eye Super Spy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jet runs into Spike again. Spike's never been good at answering his questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will I ever post an update before 1AM? Doubtful. Having so much fun with this fic though and just wanted to say a quick thank you for all your wonderful comments!

It took Jet a year to find Spike again, and he walked right past him. Jet had been in a rush, hurrying to get back to his partner with the reup of Red Eye. New partner, same supplier. _The Black Dog,_ Jet thought, _never lets go._ And he hadn’t, staying embedded in his gang and gathering intel for the ISSP until they had enough to bust up the whole operation. But only on Ganymede.

Now that he knew the Red Dragon was up and running again, Jet was determined to bring it down, even if that meant doing it all by himself. He had fought like, well, a dog, to get his unit on Ganymede over to Tharsis, but the ISSP wasn’t having it. Bob did what he could to help, but it was ultimately made clear that if Jet wanted to take on the Red Dragon, he’d be doing it alone.

He was still in contact with the ISSP, thanks to Bob, of course, who had put Jet in touch with an officer on Mars, one who could be trusted. “We want this as much as you do,” the officer had said, “we just can’t risk it all right now.”

But Jet could. Especially if it meant getting to Tharsis, back to where he last saw Spike. That dumbass had a lot of things to answer for. Like how the hell he was walking around breathing. And why he hadn’t come looking for the Bebop.

When he was working in the Ganymede gang, he came back to Tharsis a few times, but never long enough to do some real digging. Plus, he knew Spike was good at covering his tracks. Jet was going to need to pound some pavement if he wanted to find him, which is exactly what he’d been doing for the past month.

That, and getting initiated into the Red Dragon. They started him on small stuff, mostly selling Red Eye on street corners to lowlifes. He didn’t get any good intel on upper management or potential business dealings. Seemed like “don’t ask, don’t tell” was a hard and fast rule for syndicates across the galaxy. The Mars ISSP agent was getting frustrated, and Jet was going to have to give him some useful information soon, or else head back to Ganymede. He swore he wouldn’t do that before finding Spike.

Which made it all the more infuriating that Spike was technically the one who found _him_. Jet was hurrying down the street, the Red Eye burning a hole in his pocket. He bumped into a stranger and muttered a quick “sorry” before shouldering on.

“Jet?” He froze. _I’d know that voice anywhere._ He turned.

“Spike!”

A million thoughts raced through Jet’s mind. That Spike had been alive for two years. That he’d never contacted Jet. That Jet had been searching for so long he had almost given up hope. That Spike didn’t really do hugs. That Jet wasn’t much of a hugger either. But screw it.

He swept Spike into a bone-crushing embrace, lifting him off the ground and spinning him around like he was some girl Jet was coming home to after the war. He felt Spike laugh, a low vibration against his shoulder.

“Ah hell, Jet, you’re crushing me.” Jet put him down and pulled away, grinning like an idiot. “I almost missed you there,” Spike continued. “Wouldn’t have recognized you, except for the arm.”

 _That’s fair,_ Jet thought. He had changed over the past year, trimming his beard, and getting a few tattoos to blend in with his fellow degenerates in the Red Dragon. He had shaved his head as well, finally giving into the inevitable recession that was his hairline. Last of all, he was dressed like a true street thug, nothing like his typical uniform as captain of the Bebop.

“I could say the same about you,” he replied. If Jet looked a little different, Spike looked like another person entirely. His hair, normally fuzzy and cropped, now fell in a dark tangle down to his collar. He looked broader, more built, like he’d been getting three square meals a day to balance his little martial-arts-chi-alignment routines, or whatever the hell they were called. His clothes were different too. Jet had pretty much only ever seen Spike in that blue suit, so he was surprised to see him in casual jeans and a leather jacket. He didn’t know Spike even _owned_ a leather jacket. _Maybe he got it in the two years he was missing._ Jet barely knew where to start. He pointed to the hair. “What’s all this about?”

Spike laughed self-consciously and ran a hand through the long strands. “You like it? I grew it out a while ago—good disguise.”

“I’ll say,” Jet huffed, suddenly irritated. “Been trying to find you for a year now and here I walk right past you.” Annoyance was quickly giving way to anger. “I know you saw me that day at the traffic light. Why didn’t you try to find me, after that? Or call me, even to let me know you were okay? I was really worried about you!” Jet finished, breathing hard.

Spike looked down and kicked at the pavement awkwardly, unsure of what to say.

Jet softened. “Where have you been, kid?” he asked gently.

Spike’s head snapped up, eyes darting to the left of Jet. “We can’t talk here. Come with me.” He turned abruptly and started hauling ass down the street.

“What?” Jet protested, but followed nonetheless. “Spike, what’s going on?”

“Not safe out here,” he muttered. “Think I’m being watched.”

“By who? Seriously Spike, I better start getting some answers out of y-”

They halted in front of what looked like the world’s sleaziest bar, before Spike yanked the door open and they both slipped inside. “Real nice joint,” Jet griped. Spike just shrugged and headed over to the bar, where he sat on a barstool and waited for Jet to join him. He did, and they sat silent, waiting. A man Jet assumed was the bartender emerged from the back room.

“Welcome to Gem Girls! I’m Haru, what can I get for you gentlemen this afternoon?”

“Two scotches, neat,” Spike ordered. He and Jet watched in semi-awed silence as Haru made their drinks with blistering speed and slid them across the bartop.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Haru said, “I’ve got some business to attend to in the back. Just holler if you need me.” He gave a quick incline of his head and exited the way he came, shutting the door firmly behind him.

“Huh,” Jet said, bemused. “How do you like that?”

“Pretty well, actually,” Spike replied. “Less people listening to us.”

Jet turned to study his former partner, coiled tight as a wire, and practically vibrating with tension. He sighed. “Okay, okay. Let’s start small. Just tell me what you can right now, and I’ll get the rest when we’re totally in the clear. Why don’t you explain how you made it out of…you know…everything.”

Spike exhaled, fingers flexing against his glass. “There was a kid, Shin. His brother Lin served under me and Vicious back in the day. Lin died on Calisto defending Vicious and Shin defected. He was helping me, after-” He swallowed. “After Julia.” He paused and took a deep drink. “Vicious and I fought; we both got it pretty bad. Shin was there, at the end of it, and he got me out. If it weren’t for him, I would be dead.”

Jet felt a stab of guilt. There were countless things he wanted to say. _I should’ve helped you. It’s been eating at me for two years, and I can’t forget about it. I was a stubborn old man. I’m sorry._ Instead, he said, “Bet you gave as good as you got, huh?” _Damn coward._

Spike gave a harsh laugh. “I wish.”

“But why are you still in Tharsis?” Jet questioned. “There was a lot of heat on you.”

“I was too banged up to go anywhere for a while. Besides, everything cooled off pretty quick, considering everyone from the old guard bit the dust.”

“Well, not everyone,” said Jet, punching his shoulder good-naturedly.

“Yeah, not everyone,” Spike muttered darkly. “I’m sorry I can’t really tell you what’s happening Jet. I’ve got a lot of things in the air, could be dangerous if one of them were to fall.”

Jet waved a hand. “No, no, I understand. We’ll have a real talk soon. I can tell you about me though, might not be that exciting, but still.” Spike nodded, sipping his scotch as Jet recounted the past two years of his life, minus all the angst he’d dealt with after losing Spike and the rest of the Bebop crew. _I’m not a damn thirteen-year-old._

“So you’re working for the Dragon, huh? Never thought I would live to see the day,” Spike teased.

“Yeah, well, it’s in service of the ISSP. Gotta pull my weight now that I’ve joined up again.”

“Another thing I’d never thought I’d see. What’s next? Faye founding a charity?”

Jet shrugged. “No idea. Haven’t talked to her in over a year. I told her you were alive though.”

“Oh yeah? What’d she say?”

“Told me to fuck off.”

Spike laughed, loud and genuine, and Jet’s heart lifted. _This_ was the Spike he knew.

“Sounds about right. She’s probably scamming some poor sap in one of those offworld casinos.”

“With that damn bracelet of hers,” Jet grumbled.

Spike turned, serious again, and looked Jet square in the face. “Jet, if you’re really in with the Dragon, I could use your help.”

“With what? Is it dangerous?”

“Can’t really say, but yes, it is.”

Jet sighed. “When is it not with you? I’m not sure, Spike. What would you need me to do?”

“Nothing yet, but I might ask you later. Here, let me give you my new beeper number.” He wrote it down on a cocktail napkin and passed it to Jet. “I have to go.” He slid off his barstool, downing the rest of his drink in one swallow. “I’ll call you soon. Thanks again, Jet.”

“Wait a sec, Spike,” Jet said, standing up. “I never said I would help. I can’t risk this op I’ve got going with ISSP. You need to give me something, anything, to help me decide if I can get mixed up in this. I want to help you, Spike, really I do, but you’re not making it easy on me.”

Spike scowled, with a bitterness that shocked Jet. He’d seen Spike look like that only a handful of times before, when he talked about-

“Let’s just say I’m trying to take down an old friend.”

-Vicious. A trickle of fear, ice cold, ran through Jet. He should’ve known. If Spike had survived, it was no surprise his hateful shadow lived as well. He thought back to his recent dealings with the Red Dragon—the secrecy around all of it, the covert movements of its higher members, the ruthless but efficient way they’d been doing business—it all pointed straight to Vicious. Even without his own connections, the look on Spike’s face was evidence enough.

Pure hatred, reflecting in a pair of two-tone eyes.

“Okay, I’m sold. Whatever you need, just give me a call. I’ll be around.” Spike sagged with relief, clearly happy to finally have an ally. Jet wondered how long he’d been fighting the Red Dragon alone, trying to defeat his evil counterpart once and for all. Jet’s heart ached for the kid.

“Look, Spike, I just want to say, uh, I’m sorry. For not going with you back then. I should’ve, but I was being stubborn. I know,” he held up a hand to stem Spike’s protests, “I know, we don’t talk about feelings or stuff like that, but I just needed you to know I’m sorry. I should’ve been there, and I’m sorry I wasn’t.”

“Well,” said Spike, hands fidgeting inside his coat pockets, “you’re here now.” He glanced towards the door. “Look, I gotta go, but I’ll call you. Keep your beeper on." He made his way to the front of the room.

“You don’t need my number?” Jet asked.

“Still remember it.” Spike opened the door, the sounds of city traffic spilling into the bar. He paused, flashing a small smile over his shoulder. “It was really good to see you, Jet.”

“You too, Spike-o.”

He left, the door falling shut behind him, and the bar was plunged into silence once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spike's definitely got something going on, will Jet be able to figure it out? Next chapter explores what Faye's been up to for the past year, and boy, it's a lot. Maybe she'll even run into Spike...


	5. Unstable for Two, Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faye finally sees Spike. And Spike's hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOVED writing this chapter, Faye and Spike are the absolute grand masters of banter and it was so fun to write their dialogue. Let me know what you guys think. Also I think it's becoming apparent that I can and WILL change everyone's canon hair. Because why not.

_When I finally find these damn keys,_ Faye thought, _they’re going straight up Lola’s ass._ She’d looked all over the apartment and they were nowhere to be seen. She ran a hand through her hair, frustrated. The thin strands moved and settled again, coming together to form a platinum blonde waterfall that cascaded down Faye’s back.

She’d dyed her hair almost a year ago and hadn’t cut it in just as long. It was a two-part decision, half as a celebration for her promotion, and half because of the one day she stopped by Gem Girls without her hideous wig, and the only person who recognized her was Lola. _That_ wasn’t an experience Faye ever wanted to repeat again, so she went full blonde and never looked back. She liked her new hair; it made her feel like a totally different person. Like a real business professional, which she was now.

Even if she was working professionally for a crime syndicate. But hey, woolongs were woolongs, no matter where they came from, and she was making a lot of them.

After her conversation with Jet (which she never thought about), she decided she’d stay in Tharsis to actually pay off her debts for once. And if she happened to see Spike (she _definitely_ never thought about _that_ ), well, it’d be just another chance encounter she could chalk up to the powers of the universe.

Besides, it felt good to do something honest—if you could call syndicate espionage honest—something that even Jet might call “a hard day’s work.” Faye was only in her second month at Gem Girls, steadying chipping away at her debt, when she started hearing rumors of an undercover cop running with the Ganymede buyers. Her grasp on the Red Dragon as a whole was pretty hazy, but she knew they’d become the top distributor of Red Eye for a good chunk of the galaxy, Ganymede included.

It didn’t take her very long to put two and two together—Ganymede was Jet’s home system and he’d been in Tharsis not too long ago. _Back to your old ways, then. I bet you’re running some kind of game, but sorry, old man, I’m getting my woolongs._ She put together a full report, citing both what she’d heard at Gem Girls and what she assumed Jet’s next moves would be. She’d seen him go after enough bounties to know how his “Black Dog” routine worked.

Still, she couldn’t bring herself to include Jet’s name. _Who knows, I could be totally wrong anyway._ So she sent it up the chain, sans name, and hoped for a nice payout. She didn’t hear anything back, not even a confirmation they got it.

But then she started hearing a few promising whispers at the bar. For undisclosed reasons, the Red Dragon dealers had been ordered to stop selling to Ganymede buyers. And wouldn’t you know it, the very same Ganymede gang was taken down by local police not a week later.

Shin showed up again one night soon after and cornered her. She’d been avoiding him as much as possible, something that was very difficult to do, considering Lola made up every excuse to get all three of them in the same room as often as possible. Faye declined whenever she could, and Shin, for his part, didn’t seem inclined to spend much time with her either. He never said anything, but Faye guessed that something about their mutual connection to Spike made him wary. _The ungrateful lunkhead probably ditched his ass too._

But when Shin stopped her right outside of Gem Girls, it had nothing to do with Spike. “Congrats,” he said, leaning casually against the brick exterior. “You’re a free woman. And you’re being promoted.”

Faye blinked at him. “What?”

“Your tip, about the Ganymede cop,” he explained. “No one had reported it because they didn’t have any good leads, or they thought it was just a rumor. Off the record, you saved the syndicate’s ass big time.” He shrugged. “So yeah, they’ve cleared your debt and offered you a job, if you want it.”

She looked at Shin suspiciously, crossing her arms. This seemed too good to be true, especially with her luck. “Where?”

“We need a manager at this club, Fantaisie, over in the Aqueduct District.” Faye’s eyebrows shot up. The Aqueduct was one of the wealthiest parts of Tharsis; it’d been named after the original water ducts that were vital to terraforming Mars so many years ago. The people that lived there were old money, like, pre-20th century old. Impossibly exclusive. Disgustingly rich. And everything Faye had ever wanted. Still, she had to be cautious. The Red Dragon never did anything to just be nice.

“What would I be doing? More intel stuff?”

“A little bit, I guess. But Fantaisie is one of those places that’s got high rollers in it every single night. Those sincoms you get here are just a small part of the job. You’ll be focused less on getting information; it’s more about what we like to call ‘fostering partnerships.’”

“Between who?”

“The Dragon, obviously, and some of the city’s more, shall we say, upstanding citizens.”

“Ahhhh,” Faye said, “The Red Dragon’s trying to go legit.”

“Not exactly,” Shin smiled drily. “But it is looking to expand into new sectors. The Aqueduct is at the top of the list.”

“They must really trust me then, to put me on this job.” The wheels were turning double-time in Faye’s mind.

“You could say that. The Dragon recognizes your talent, Faye. You’re the right person for the job. Honestly, the only one. You can’t be connected directly to the syndicate, which is exactly what we need. We’re discreet, but we need someone that’s practically invisible. To the public, I mean.”

Faye huffed. “Gee, thanks.” Shin shrugged. “So basically, what you’re saying is that this little expansion plan of theirs is impossible to do without me?” He nodded. “So, I could potentially make some demands. Especially in the money department.”

Shin laughed. “Honestly, Faye, I’ve looked at the contract, I don’t think you’ll have any complaints about the salary. Or the benefits. The apartment you would get costs more per month than this place makes in a year.”

“Oh, a contract, very official. Alright, how much would they pay me?” He told her. And suddenly she felt very dizzy. “Seriously?”

He nodded. “Completely. So, you’ll take the job? Just like you said, it’s very official. The Dragon wants this whole operation, Fantaisie and all its business, on the books.” He stuck his hand out for her to shake.

Faye paused. Here was her chance to be totally and luxuriously rich, not to mention legally. This had basically fallen out of the sky, and she knew something like this would never happen again. She wanted to take Shin’s hand, but one thing nagged at her. _Goddammit. I shouldn’t risk it. But I have to._

“I have one condition.” Shin quirked an eyebrow. “Lola comes too.” His face remained studiously blank, but Faye could see the tiniest flicker of emotion in his eyes. She held out her own hand.

“I think we can work with that. You’ve got a deal.” They shook firmly, and he squeezed her hand in a silent _thank-you_ before letting go. “I’d better go tell Lola the good news.” Faye agreed, but declined to go back inside. Instead, she headed back towards her apartment, wandering the darkened streets and drinking in the night air. Savoring that, for once in her life, something was going right.

 _Unlike right fucking now,_ she thought. It had been over nine months since she started managing Fantaisie, and her life was great. Perfect, even. Schmoozing with the rich had given her a taste for high society, and thanks to her salary from the Red Dragon, she was surrounded by the finer things in life. Her upscale apartment was only a few blocks from Fantaisie, and had floor-to-ceiling windows, a bathtub, and, her personal favorite, a walk-in closet. Which happened to be filled with more clothes than she had owned in all the previous years of her life put together, and all of them were designer.

Lola had moved in with her as well, and for the most part, she was a great roommate. She was a lot neater than Faye, who generally left trails of clutter wherever she went, and she was a great cook too. But she had this terribly annoying tendency to clean up Faye’s messes, and put things away were Faye couldn’t find them. She’d done it this morning, and now Faye couldn’t find her keys.

Worst of all, Lola wasn’t even here to ask, she was out with Shin. Faye groaned in frustration. She was running late to work, where the club was supposed to be hosting an exclusive Real Folk Blues concert. They were a wickedly famous jazz band, and the bassist’s uncle just happened to be one of Fantaisie’s most loyal patrons. Landing them had been a huge deal, and a lot was riding on this night. There would be many new faces at the club tonight, mostly the elusive old-money crowd that basically ran the Aqueduct District, and, by extension, most of the legal business operations of Tharsis. Apparently, old people with too much money and too much time flipped for jazz music. Who knew?

Faye had delegated all the preparation to her staff, and she trusted them implicitly, but she still had to head down to the club and check that everything was running smoothly. _Fuck it,_ she thought, and threw on her coat. _I’ll just have Lola let me in later tonight. I’m already so late._ She stalked out the door and into the hallway elevator, putting her hands into her pockets. Where she felt her keys. _God. Fucking. Dammit._

She was still gritting her teeth when she got to Fantaisie. After getting an update from the shift manager, where everything seemed to be going well, she headed down to the floor to mingle. For the next hour, she shook hands and made witty conversation with patrons, new and old. To an outsider, she might have seemed warm and friendly, but Faye was fully in what Lola liked to call her “business mode.” She had a job to do, and damn if she wasn’t going to do it. Before she knew it, one of her staff stepped out onto the temporary stage they’d erected and introduced Real Folk Blues. They came out on stage, instruments in hand, and bowed to the extremely polite clapping that received them. _Wow,_ Faye thought. _These people sure know how to party._

Still, everyone seemed excited, so she excused herself from her current entanglement and made her way to the back of the room. It was pretty deserted; most everyone was crowded in front of the stage. _Fucking jazz. What’s the big deal?_

She leaned against the back wall and closed her eyes. _Finally, I can relax, just for a minute._ The club was silent, holding its collective breath as the band stood on stage, poised to play. Faye suddenly felt a presence next to her, warm, solid, and damned familiar. She shivered—knowing, waiting. _Wanting._

_Shut up, brain._

He spoke.

“Got a light?”

The first few notes of the sax kicked in, filling the quiet. _What, does he come with his own goddamn soundtrack?_

She opened her eyes, and there he was. Spike fucking Spiegel, in the flesh. Faye stared at him, dumbstruck. Her brain was firing on all cylinders, processing fragments. _Not dead. Looks different. Leather jacket. Jeans??? Cigarette. Not lit. Lighter. Mine. Asking for it._ Numb, she drew it out of her pocket and handed it to him. He sparked it against his cigarette.

“I know it says no smoking in here, but I figured, hey, since I know the manager…” He paused, looking at Faye curiously. “Cat got your tongue?”

 _Say something, you idiot!_ “Your hair is different.” _Jesus Christ, Valentine._

Spike smirked. “What’s the matter, afraid you like it?”

“I’m just surprised it finally decided to obey the laws of gravity.” _There we go._

“Well, at least I don’t look like a sex doll.” He reached out, lightning fast, and flicked at the platinum strands. She flinched away, and his eyes narrowed. Something in Faye rebelled against him getting so close. It was too friendly, and for some reason he was making her uneasy.

“Personal space much?” she complained, trying to mask her sudden discomfort. He pocketed her lighter, and she was about to protest, but he turned to look at her full on. _I forgot how freaky those eyes could be._

He raised an eyebrow, examining her. “I’m alive, by the way.”

“What do you want, a medal?”

“A hello would be nice.”

“Hello.”

“Geez, no tears for the dead, huh?”

“I’m just surprised they even let you in here.”

“Well, I know the manager, so-”

“Stop saying that!” she snapped. Any thoughts of a happy reunion had run straight out of her mind, and all she felt was crushing annoyance. _Just like old times._ But there was something underneath it, something she couldn’t put a finger on. All she knew was that it felt eerily like fear. _Snap out of it. You’re just shocked to actually see him. Pull. It. Together._ She put her hands on her hips.

“How did you even know I was here?”

“That’s cute,” he snorted.

“What?”

“That you assume I came here to see you.”

Rage. Absolute rage at the audacity of this man. She gaped at him, open-mouthed. She couldn’t even reply, her fists clenching at her sides in sheer fury. How did he manage to do this to her every time? Two years in the proverbial grave, and somehow, he had her seeing red only two minutes into his resurrection.

“I don’t have to deal with this,” she finally ground out. “You know I could just have security throw you out.”

He shrugged. “Sure, you could, but then you wouldn’t be able to hear what I’ve been up to for the past two years.”

“Well, you can keep it to yourself. Honestly, I don’t give a _fuck_ , Spike.” The venom in her voice surprised her. Why was her heart racing? She felt angry. But she also felt scared. _What is happening to me?_

He held up his hands in surrender. “Alright, calm down, woman. I’ll leave if you want me to. Didn’t mean to cause any trouble, your ladyship.”

Irritation sparked anew, hot and prickly. “Why are you even here then, Spike?” The last notes of the song faded out, and silence fell over the club once more.

He looked at her for a long moment. “Because I like jazz.” He stubbed his cigarette out against the wall and gave her a lazy salute. “See you around, Valentine.”

Then he was gone. And the band started to play again.

When she got home later that night, tired and feeling overcomplicated feelings, she had to talk to someone. But Lola was still out with Shin, her bedroom empty and dark.

So Faye grabbed her pager and tapped out a message to Jet.

_< I saw Spike tonight.>_

He responded in less than a minute.

_< Yeah, I ran into him yesterday. Seems like he’s finally resurfaced.>_

Faye’s fingers hovered over the keys, the anxious feeling still sitting painfully in her chest. Then, with perfect clarity, she was able to name it—the reason seeing Spike had made her feel so off-balance, scared, even. Why she sensed a certain wrongness lurking around him. She typed it out, just four little words. But it was enough.

_< He looks like Vicious.>_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out, Spike DOES come with his own soundtrack. Heard this song today and imagined this would totally be playing when they met again. The sax and percussion made it seem so inherently Bebop and I thought it was a good little description of what Spike could have been thinking at that moment. Also I just really liked it.
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/track/0OjVmGMCkcQCO3Dq1TKbz1?si=AVJSgaAEQ9mrtWhR4NQpzA
> 
> So anyway, that's chapter 5, finally got Spike and Faye in the same room, hooray! And what about Faye's job offer? Do we think it's as lucky as it seems? Also, another Vicious mention? What's that all about? Now that Faye's in the loop (sort of), we'll be heading back over to Jet. He needs some answers, goddamn it. Also working on another little surprise for you guys at the start of next chapter so look forward to that.


	6. Friendly Fire & Brimstone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike and Jet, together again, just like old times. So why doesn't it feel it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay everyone it's time for some *Wrestle Mania voice* C-C-C-C-CONCEPT ART!!!!! Seriously, when I started writing this I had their new looks in my head but then they held me at gunpoint and demanded I actually draw them, so....
> 
> https://kicksomeacid.tumblr.com/post/636363045841600512/some-concept-art-for-a-bebop-fic
> 
> On to the chapter!

Jet ended up being the one to call Spike. _Should have guessed. He always has been a flaky son of a bitch._

In the two weeks since their conversation at the bar, all he’d gotten from Spike was radio silence. Jet was still working with his crew, doing quick Red Eye deals in dirty back alleys. But now he was more alert than ever, listening for even a whisper of Vicious or his whereabouts.

Yesterday, he’d gotten an earful. He was sitting in one of the crew’s usual haunts, a seedy bar filled with seedier patrons, drinking vodka neat and waiting for his next job. His partner dropped into the seat next to him and ordered a gin and tonic.

“I got a special assignment for you,” he said. Jet raised his eyebrows. “Well, technically, I’m supposed to do this, but that hot chick I’ve been seeing, Jennifer—tomorrow’s her night off and I promised I’d take her out on the town.”

Jet sighed and nodded. He’d heard too much about Jennifer lately, and definitely too much about Jennifer’s breasts.

His partner continued. “It’s no big deal, you just have to run some Red Eye from that manufacturer we might use over to headquarters. Quality Control wants to look it over.”

Jet tilted his head. “We have Quality Control?”

His partner nodded. “Course we do. The Red Dragon is moving up in the world, and we gotta move with it. So, can you do me a solid and run it over?” Jet hummed noncommittally, considering. “Please, man? It’ll take an hour, tops. Plus,” he elbowed Jet in the ribs, “you’ll probably even get to see the inside of the big man’s office.”

Jet froze. “The big man?”

“Yeah, the Head of the Dragon. Word on the street is he checks all new Red Eye himself before we can sell it. We’ve got a reputation to uphold, apparently.”

Jet’s mind spun. “So I’d walk right in? Just like that?”

His partner shrugged. “Well, yeah, I guess. Just tell them you’ve got the new Red Eye and they should send you right up. At least that’s what happened when my buddy did it. Said the place was reaaaal nice too, all fancy and shit.”

Jet could scarcely believe what he was hearing. But it was the opening he’d been looking for. “You got yourself a deal.”

When he left the bar later that night, he called Spike. He picked up on the third ring.

“Hello?” His voice was hushed, and Jet could hear people in the background.

“Spike. I got something. Something big.”

“One sec.” There was some shuffling and then the voices cut off abruptly. Jet could hear wind whistling; Spike must have stepped outside. “Okay, hit me.”

Jet recounted what his partner had told him, trying to keep his voice level. But, damn, he was pumped. _Finally, we’ll have the drop on Vicious._ He finished, and Spike was silent for a moment.

“Meet me tomorrow, at dusk, at that bar we went to. I’ll bring the guns. You bring your A-game. See ya, Jet.”

“Wait, Spike-” But he’d already hung up.

When Jet got to Gem Girls the next night, it was empty, just like last time. He sat down at the bar and waited. Not a minute later, Spike walked in. He’d seemed tense before, but now he looked ready to snap. His eyes were red, and he looked exhausted. “You okay?” Jet asked. Spike nodded. “You sure? You’re not sick or anything are you?”

“No, no. Just haven’t been sleeping well, that’s all,” he muttered. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Right, I went over what you gave me, and I think it’ll work. I’ve got a guy on the inside, he’s gonna help us out.” Jet was surprised. He’d assumed any contacts Spike had would have been crushed under that skyscraper.

“Who’s your man?”

“Shin,” Spike said with the hint of a smile. “Loyal to the end, that one.” Jet nodded in approval. This Shin seemed like a pretty good guy, considering he’d brought Spike back from the grave and was going to help return Vicious to it.

“Wanna get a drink?” Jet offered. He knew it was entirely possible they wouldn’t be coming back from this. Might as well have one nice moment before they go. Spike glanced around the empty room.

“I don’t think anyone’s here.” He stood wearily, and Jet tried to ignore a pang of disappointment.

“Guess we’ll just have to come back for it then,” he replied cheerily, and got to his feet as well. He was trying to keep things upbeat, but Spike’s melancholy hung over them like a dark cloud until they reached the syndicate headquarters. They paused outside the entrance as Spike passed a gun to Jet. Shiny, and damned light. Jet wondered where he got it. He looked at Spike, who was shifting nervously in front of the glass doors. Ready, but a little reluctant.

“You sure you’ll be okay in there? What if someone recognizes you?”

Spike smirked. “You’d be surprised at how well this works.” He pointed to his hair, which had fallen forward to obscure most of his face. _Faye was right,_ Jet thought. _He DOES look like Vicious._ He would never tell Spike that, though.

They stepped into the building. The lobby was deserted, except for a man Jet assumed was Shin, waiting for them by the elevator. He waved them over hastily.

“I’ve deactivated the sensors on the 55th floor; you should be able to get in undetected.” Shin’s gaze darted between every possible entrance, scanning for potential hostiles. “Hurry, before someone sees.” Spike and Jet got in and the doors began to close. Suddenly, a voice rang out.

“Hey! Stop them!”

But it was too late, the doors slid shut and the two old friends were on their way. “I hope Shin’s okay,” Jet muttered.

“He’ll be fine,” Spike said, but it didn’t really sound like he meant it. They stood in silence and Spike watched the numbers climb higher and higher. _48\. 49. 50. 51._ “Hey Jet, thanks for coming with me.”

“Are you kidding?” Jet laughed, “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” _55._ The elevator dinged and the doors slid open.

Gunshots sounded, loud and relentless. “Get down!” Jet yelled, throwing himself to the floor. Spike joined him.

“Follow me,” he said, voice cutting quietly through the clamor of bullets. They crawled furtively along the side of the hallway, sliding into the first room they could find and slamming the door. It was an office, simple but clearly nice. _Too bad it’s about to get shot up,_ Jet thought. He and Spike dove behind the desk as guns fired right outside the door. They sat, backs against the wall, panting.

There was a lull, a moment of calm before the storm Jet knew was coming, be it hot bursts of gunfire or the solitary slice of a katana. He wanted to make this moment, this time around, a good one. He was here with Spike now, at the end, and that's what really mattered.

“Bet it'll feel nice to put that bastard in the ground where he belongs, huh Spike-o?” Spike shrugged, still eyeing the door. “Come on! I mean, after so long, sticking Vicious once and for all, that's gonna be awesome. Personally, I can't wait to see it.”

Spike tensed. He opened his mouth, but Jet was on a roll. All the things he should have said last time, if he'd been there, they had to be said now. For his conscience, for his friendship, and for Spike. 

“Now I don't know exactly what you've been up to these past few years, and at this point I don't really care. All I know is you've got guts, coming back like this.” He chuckled and put a hand on Spike’s shoulder.

“Maybe you’ve got some of the Black Dog in you, kid, the way you keep going after him, and I’ll never be the one to say that’s a bad thing. The past is the past, Spike. At the end of the day, we have each other’s backs and that’s what matters.” He fidgeted with his gun, suddenly embarrassed at his outburst and the way Spike was staring at him with wide, wide eyes.

“Ah, look, Spike, all I’m trying to say is, you’re my friend. My best friend."

Spike took a deep breath. “Jet, I-”

The door slammed open with a deafening bang. Jet winked at Spike and cocked his gun. “Showtime, cowboy.”

Something flew through the doorway and fell with a clatter in the center of the room. _Smoke bomb,_ Jet thought, just before it exploded. In seconds, the room filled with acrid fumes, Jet couldn’t see anything. He coughed and fired blindly, aiming at what he assumed were the sounds of Red Dragon members filling the room. He heard other shots too, both from Spike and their unseen enemies, but it was impossible to tell if anyone had hit their intended targets. Jet groped along the floor, trying to find Spike. His hand grasped a leg, swathed in denim. _Bingo. Shit. It’s not moving._

“Spike!” he called anxiously, shaking the leg. “Spike, bud, you okay?” The smoke was just barely beginning to thin; Jet could make out a hazy outline of his friend, pressed against the wall. “Can’t see any of these bastards, but I think I hit a few of them-”

Something whistled through the air.

Pain, blinding and sharp. His head was ringing. Jet whirled drunkenly, looking for his attacker.

Shin stood over him, the butt of his pistol spotted with Jet’s blood. _He must have betrayed us._ Jet struggled to his feet and lunged at Shin, roaring. Shin was fast, but Jet was furious. He caught Shin by the throat and started squeezing, anger pumping out through his mechanical arm.

Shin didn’t even blink. He motioned behind him and a mob of Red Dragon men surged forward, swarming Jet and prying his hand away. They pinned his arms behind his back forcefully, and no matter how hard he struggled, he couldn’t move. Shin moved past Jet to stand over Spike.

“Don’t fucking touch him!” Jet snarled, but he was powerless. Spike kept his head down, his face hidden by a dark curtain of hair. Shin bent low, menacing.

“I think it’s time you came back into the fold.” He reached out a hand and jerked Spike roughly to his feet. “Or we’ll need to dispose of your friend.” Jet’s heart was hammering out of his chest. This was worse than he imagined. They were cornered, and Vicious was nowhere in sight. _So goddamn close._ Spike was leaning against the wall, refusing to meet Shin’s eyes. He was close to breaking, Jet could tell. And Jet would be damned if he let Spike fall into the past again, one that he hated so much.

“Spike, no!” he shouted. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. But you can’t give into them, not when you’ve come this far!” _Come on, Spike. Get ANGRY._ But Spike studied the ground, blank. Jet tried again. “Are you really that stupid? To go back to something that’s only ever left you to die? Don’t do it, Spike. You’re too good for that, I _know_ you are.” Still, Spike remained silent, motionless. “Goddammit, you fucking bastard! What’s wrong with you? _Fight back!_ ” He was desperate, begging, because that’s all he could do.

Shin turned and backhanded him, swift and strong, a slap that drove Jet to his knees and had him seeing stars.

“Show some respect,” Shin said calmly. Jet gaped at Spike, silently pleading for him to fight. Or even run. Spike finally met his gaze, miserable. Shin spoke again, with reverence.

“You're addressing the Head of the Dragon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................fucking WHAT?
> 
> Let me know what you guys thought of this chapter! Did you see the twist coming? What do you think will happen next?  
> Shoutout to BeccaNoodles for calling this in Chapter 4! For the rest of you, I hope my misdirection wasn't too...vicious. Okay I'll see myself out now.
> 
> Come back next chapter for a deep dive into the mind of Spike Spiegel as he tells you everything that happened over the last two years. Or at least some of it, anyway.


	7. Lunkhead Soliloquy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At night, Spike studies the city. And the past. Only one is beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with an update! This chapter was a tough one. I've been waiting to write this since the start but I found it hard to really capture Spike's voice especially in terms of introspection. But this is what I ended up with, so enjoy!

_Shit,_ Spike thought. _I’m right back where I fucking started. My apartment’s nicer, but still._

And it was nice—wide-paneled windows that let in pale sunlight every morning and the glow of the city every night. He was standing at his bedroom window now. The sun had gone down hours ago, and Jet had gone with it, to be locked away until Spike figured out how the hell to handle _that_ situation.

He’d known Jet was working for the Dragon almost immediately. Thanks to Faye’s tip, he’d been able to cut ties with the Ganymede buyers a few months earlier. Even if he hadn’t seen Jet that day last year, he would’ve been able to guess the Black Dog was up to his old tricks. So it also didn’t surprise him that Jet came back to Tharsis, stubborn as ever, to take down only the most powerful crime syndicate in the system. Not that Spike wanted to brag.

Besides, he’d had a lot of help.

After the fight, he woke up, which was surprising. Vicious fell, and Spike walked away, but then he fell too. And that was supposed to be it. But instead, he woke up, and everything was on fire. For the first few weeks, he didn’t even know where he was or how he got there. All he knew was pain, then darkness, then pain again.

When he could finally keep his eyes open for more than a minute, he saw Shin standing over him. Well, standing was probably a strong word. Shin looked as awful as he felt. But he sat down and tried his best to fill in the gaps. Spike found out he was in an apartment. Someone’s grandmother had died; it was standing empty. _Died or killed,_ Spike remembered thinking.

Apparently, after Lin’s death, Shin had been working with his own splinter group, small, but staunchly against Vicious and the possibility of his new regime. They had come late to the firefight, and were the only ones left standing while Vicious and Spike fought to the bloody end.

Spike brushed his fingers down his chest, tracing the scar. Hard and knotted, and damned big. Vicious had been, well, vicious with his strokes. _Fighting to kill. That’s what I was doing too, I guess. Shooting to kill._ And he had. Still, Vicious was around, in a sense. Spike saw him, usually in his dreams.

Sometimes not.

Spike talked to him almost every night, not that he could, or would, respond. But Spike felt a sense of peace after those one-sided conversations in the dark, in a way he never had before. Vicious’ ambition, that he’d never had and certainly never wanted, made more sense to him now. Maybe he even understood it. Either way, he was the Head of the Dragon, not Vicious, and there was no going back. _All because of a gun._

When they fought, full of hate and vengeance and too much grief, they were perfectly matched. They always had been; neither could beat the other. So it came down to everything else. And Spike had brought a gun.

It made him uneasy, to know that he was here and Vicious was not, all because one piece of metal was better than another. He knew that if the weapons were reversed, he’d be the one gone. But Vicious had never liked guns. _My katana,_ he’d once said, _it’s personal._ And that was the thing about guns, they weren’t. Spike had been impersonal in that fight, and he was impersonal now, and that’s why he was still standing. He’d been accused of being impersonal his whole life.

Not like Vicious. Vicious had been too intimate, too comfortable. It just so happened his intimacy came in the form of cruelty and his comfort was the stuff of violence.

Mao had once said Spike and Vicious were like fire and ice, but Spike never found that to be true. _If anyone’s fire_ , he thought with a smirk, _it’s Faye._ He glanced at her lighter, lying forgotten on his bedside table.

He had no idea she was even on Mars until Shin came to him one day and said his girlfriend made a new friend named Faye Valentine. He’d looked like a sly little shit when he said it too, like he knew something Spike didn’t. Spike had just shrugged and told Shin to stay quiet. Faye was around, but she thought he was dead. And he intended to keep it that way. _At least for now._

Thinking about Faye made him uncomfortable. Jet knew he was alive, and she didn’t, and that made him feel strange. Bad, maybe. Like he wanted her to know, wanted her to be reassured that he was okay. _I don’t want to be the reason she’s sad. But who says she even is?_

_Who says she’s not?_

_Alright, that’s enough of that._ So he’d shoved those thoughts in a box marked “Do Not Touch” and left them to rot for a year. But the last time he’d left something untouched for a whole year, it’d almost killed everyone on the Bebop and made him never want to eat lobster again. Out of the two, the lobster thing was honestly worse.

_Everyone on the Bebop is dead anyway, to me, at least. Because they all think I’m dead. And I am, in a sense. The Spike Spiegel they knew no longer exists. Now there’s only the Head of the Dragon._

He sighed and leaned against the window. The city lights glimmered below, a beautiful sea of color.

_Easy, killer. Starting to sound like Vicious with all this angst. “The blood of a beast who wanders.” Christ, he always said the most occult shit._

Not that Spike had minded. At least Vicious meant what he said, no matter how strange it was. Spike figured they probably would’ve gotten bullied, the pair of them, if they’d ended up in school. He smirked, imagining Vicious using his “angels becoming devils” line if they got sent to the principal’s office for misbehaving. Not that Vicious would care about something like that, but still.

 _Yeah,_ Spike thought, _we’d get the shit kicked out of us. But then we probably wouldn’t have become those beasts he always talked about. And we wouldn’t have ended up here. Back at the start of it all._

He shook his head. The lights continued to blink below.

So, Faye was fire, and Vicious was ice. Julia too, had been icy. That’s why she and Vicious had gotten along so well, cold to themselves, each other, and everyone else.

But Julia had melted, just a little, when she was with Spike.

And that was the great tragedy, wasn’t it? Because the part of her that had softened, she lost it forever. Vicious came back, and she froze again, and that warm water was just a sad puddle on the ground—small and forgotten and the final home of a single red rose.

Spike hadn’t thought of Julia in a long time. She reminded him of his own tragedy; that he couldn’t feel, not really, not anymore. _Tepid,_ he thought bitterly. Everyone else in his life—fire, ice, and all temperatures in between. But he was still, indifferent. Sometimes it scared him, but mostly it just made him sad. Hot water; make a meal. Cold; fix a drink. But lukewarm; that you just flush down the drain.

And he’d been circling it for a long, long time.

He wanted so badly, ever since he opened his eyes again in that goddamned apartment, to just be _done._ But that choice wasn’t up to him anymore. He’d asked Shin, early on in that first year of recovery, why he saved him. Why he didn’t just let Spike die.

Shin had looked at him for a long moment. Then he said, “I was waiting for you to come back and take over. Guess I just got tired of waiting.”

 _Whatever happens, happens,_ Spike had thought.

_Okay, Spiegel. It’s not like you have any other options._

_Well, you could go back to the Bebop._

_No, that’s over, I ended that._

_Great move._

_In my defense, I did think I was going to die. Or find out if I was truly alive, or whatever. Still haven’t figured that one out. Maybe this’ll tell me._

So Spike was here now. It was slow going, but he healed, and planned, and led. And the Dragon rose up again, stronger and stealthier than before. He came back and took over, and things were good. Businesswise at least. He never had to worry about woolongs anymore, and his bell peppers always came with beef. He could have lobster every night of the week if he wanted, but again, fridge monster.

Speaking of the fridge, he’d opened that box again, the one full of Faye Valentine things. He hadn’t meant to, but when he saw her again everything just came tumbling out. He’d planned to go to Fantaisie at least fifty times in the past year, but hadn’t. He had only gone that night because, like he told Faye, he liked jazz.

After Shin told him Faye was in town, and working off a debt to the Dragon, no less, Spike had tried to stay out of it. She was her own woman, and she always hated when he got involved with anything. He’d worked enough bounties with her to know she’d rather die than ask for help. So he did nothing. He never asked about her, but sometimes Shin would tell him things anyway, with that smug, knowing look on his face. Spike ignored it as best he could. Faye had a life before Spike, and she would have one after him.

But then she gave that great tip, and he couldn’t help himself. She was a friend, no matter what he or she said, and he wanted to help her. As much as he had fallen back into old habits, he still wanted to be a good friend. He told Shin to clear her debt and promote her, which is what he wanted to do since the day he found out she was working at that shithole Gem Girls.

He knew she’d resent him for it, if she ever found out. Faye was lazy, but she was proud. Getting a leg up was only good if you schemed for it yourself. She didn’t like things being handed to her, not unless it was by a hand she’d already robbed blind.

When he went to Fantaisie, he was going to tell her about the Dragon. He felt like he had to tell someone, someone who knew him in the in between. Who could tell him if he’d made the worst mistake of his life, getting caught up in this again. Or would she be proud of him for seizing the opportunity? That was certainly something she never had a problem doing. _Why do I care?_

But when he got there, and saw her, he couldn’t. Telling her about the Dragon meant telling her that her job was a glorified demonstration of nepotism, a cheap move from a dead friend with a guilty conscience. But she looked so goddamn _happy,_ for once, out mingling with her patrons and ordering around her staff, that he couldn’t. And maybe he wouldn’t, at this point. He’d managed to keep it a secret from Jet for a while, and Jet had actually wanted to interact with him.

His gut twisted at the thought of Jet. Spike sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. It fell around his face, long and disheveled. That was probably the only thing that was truly different in his life.

The day Jet saw him on the street was Spike’s first time out alone. After perhaps the longest year of his life, he’d finally gotten back to normal, or as normal as he could be. He’d heard Jet’s voice, and he didn’t want to believe it. But still, he turned, and it was Jet, in the flesh.

And it scared the shit out of him.

So much so that he didn’t want to see Jet again. He grew out his hair in an attempt to disguise himself, and tried to keep tabs on Jet ever since, tracking him from Ganymede to Tharsis and back again. He lost track of him for a bit after the Ganymede ring got busted, and he worried.

Because when he saw Jet that day, he was hit, full-force, by hot, burning shame. In the past year, Spike had never once asked himself what Jet would have said about him rejoining, hell, _leading,_ the Dragon. But today, he found out. And it was horrible.

_Betraying a friend, that’s really coming full circle, pal. At least it was woolongs instead of a woman this time._

He wasn’t really sure which was worse.

Jet had been getting in too deep with the Dragon; the Black Dog sniffing too closely around some of their more criminal operations. Spike had been intentional from the start, playing the long con, and playing it to perfection. Their second meeting on the street had been no accident; neither had the “assignment” Jet’s partner was given; not even the firefight at headquarters—the bullets were all blanks. The only thing he didn’t have to fake was the hatred in his eyes. Jet must have assumed he was thinking about Vicious, but really, he had been thinking about himself.

He really did hate himself, for what he did to Jet. But it had to be done. He didn’t want Jet dead, never had, but he needed him out of the way. And now he was. But Jet’s words kept swirling around in his head.

_Are you really that stupid?_

_You’re too good for that._

_To go back to something that’s only ever left you to die?_

_Don’t do it, Spike._

_What’s wrong with you?_

He closed his eyes. Inhaled. Exhaled. Opened them again.

The lights still shone, and the city still moved beneath him. And he still felt stuck. Repeating, again and again. The dragon eating itself, the ouroboros.

 _Vicious,_ he thought, _is this how you felt? How did you do this? I need your help. Answer me._

_I miss you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some answers from Spike! But did he tell you everything?
> 
> Come back next chapter as we return to Faye and that annoying feeling she seems to get anytime a certain lunkhead is around.


	8. Single Malt, Neat. Slap Spike. Repeat.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike comes back, sans jazz. Faye isn't thrilled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spike and Faye, back at it again with the banter. Hope you guys are still enjoying the story! Thinking up some exciting stuff for the next few chapters.

“Lola, I swear to God, if you aren't ready in the next three seconds-”

“I'm here! I'm here, I'm ready. God, Faye, it's going to be fine, we're an hour ahead of schedule anyway.”

Faye sighed and jabbed the elevator button for the lobby. “Shin is meeting us there, right? And he’s bringing-”

“The single malt they both supposedly love, yes.” Lola grabbed her shoulders as the elevator descended. “Seriously. Faye. Everything is taken care of. You’re going to do great.”

Faye bit her lip. “I know, I know. I’m just nervous, and I _never_ get nervous.” She stamped her foot. “I hate this!”

Lola laughed and pulled her into a hug. “It’s just a quick meeting; it’ll be over before you know it. All you have to do is get them together, and they’ll handle the rest. Besides, Shin will be there with you the whole time, and I’ll be there too.”

“Oh, yeah?” grumbled Faye, squished between Lola’s arms. “What are you gonna do to help, then?”

“Drink enough for both of us. Never hurts to have some liquid courage.” Faye laughed, finally, and Lola relinquished her hold. “Besides, you’re wearing _the_ dress, so that’s a confidence boost right there. It makes you look like the most elegant hooker on Mars.”

She wasn’t wrong. The dress was fiery red, floor-length, and tight in all the right places. Not to mention a few well-cut slits that didn’t leave much to the imagination. Lola had come home with it one day. Shin had given it to her as a present, but it clashed terribly with her hair. He more than made up for it though, if the emerald bracelet she was sporting the next day was anything to go by. So Faye got to wear it, and damn, was it a good dress. So good, in fact, that they’d taken to calling it _the_ dress.

 _And I need THE dress tonight,_ Faye thought. It was maybe the biggest night of her life, certainly of her career. A high-ranking official in the Tharsis government had come to Fantaisie a month ago, and had loved it so much he’d been back every night since. Last week, he cornered Faye, asked to meet the owner, and heavily implied he’d be happy to exchange a few favors. Faye had been ecstatic. This could be great business for the club, not to mention a very nice payout for her.

She’d needed to contact Shin, who’d become her point person for all things Red Dragon. He stopped over at the end of the night to pick up Lola, and she pulled him over to the bar for a drink to share the good news.

“Faye, that’s amazing. This is the in we’ve been looking for.” He rubbed his hands together, and Faye was surprised to see that he looked genuinely excited. The only other times she saw him actually emote was when he was with Lola. And then it was mostly just love-sick expressions that made her nauseous. _And maybe a little jealous. Oh my God, shut UP._

“God, I’ve been dying to get in with the Tharsis higher-ups forever. This could be big for us. Though from the sound of it, he’s been drinking us under the table. Single malt, you said?” Faye nodded. Shin paused, debating. “Hey, want to meet the Head of the Dragon?”

Faye almost spat out her drink. “What?”

Shin smirked. “I mean, he’s technically the owner of this club, right? And, like I said, we’re trying to get in with these guys. Makes sense we’d have our top man on the job.”

Faye bit her lip. “I don’t know, Shin. I’m pretty okay staying out of Dragon business. That’s how we’ve done things for the past year and it’s worked out fine so far. I don’t even know who the Head of the Dragon _is_.” Shin didn’t look convinced. She tried another tactic. She _really_ didn’t want to be in any deeper than she already was. “Lola doesn’t know anything either, you know. Because you won’t tell her. Because you’re _protecting_ her, remember?”

Shin smiled. “Look, Faye, don’t worry about it. You and Lola are going to be fine, still protected, I promise. Just set up the meeting and let me know the details. He’ll come, and your guy will come, and I’ll come with a bottle of single malt they both happen to love. Really, don’t be nervous. Trust me, he’s going to love you,” Shin got up and winked. Faye started to protest, but he was walking out the door, arm around Lola and already laughing at something she said.

The meeting was set for tonight, and Lola was right, everything was taken care of. Shin had arrived promptly, bottle in hand, and was sitting at a table with Lola. Faye joined them, having just taken the official to her office upstairs and plied him with a glass of the apparently excellent single malt. She wouldn’t know, she usually stuck to vodka. All that was left was to wait for the Head of the Dragon. Who was-

“Late,” Faye said, tapping her foot. “He should have been here three minutes ago.”

“Relax, Faye, he’ll be here.” Shin nudged Lola with his shoulder. “How about a dance, gorgeous?” Lola nodded, and they slipped off. Faye sighed, and blew a strand of hair out of her face. She scanned the club, searching for anyone who looked like they could be the head of a crime syndicate. Not that there was a look for that sort of thing.

She did a double take when she spotted a mop of dark hair from across the room. _You’ve got to be kidding me. Not tonight. Any night but tonight._ It seemed the mop had spotted her too, and made its floppy way over to the table.

“That’s an excellent single malt,” Spike said, sliding into the seat next to her. The leather jacket was gone, and so were the jeans. He was back in a suit again, something that Faye found oddly comforting.

 _Just like old times._ The coat, though, that was new. Long and high-collared. _Kind of like Shin’s actually. I wonder if Spike-_

He reached for the bottle and began to pour himself a drink. “Do you mind?”

She jerked out of her reverie. “Yes, I do actually, so if you could just-” she reached for the bottle, wresting it out of his hand, “Thank you. What are you doing here? There’s no jazz tonight.”

He took a sip of the scotch, then closed his eyes and hummed. “That is amazing.” Faye glared at him. “I’m here to meet someone.”

“What, trolling for girls? Aren’t you a little old for that kind of thing?”

“Why, you jealous?”

“Hardly.” Faye glanced around the room, still searching. _Where the hell is this guy?_

“Looking for someone?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Boyfriend? Got stood up, huh?”

“Why, you jealous?”

Spike snorted into his drink. “Dream on, Valentine.”

Faye sighed. Spike was here, and he clearly wasn’t going to leave, so she might as well talk to him. She had to get over her nerves anyway. “If you must know, I’m waiting for the Head of the Dragon. So maybe you don’t want to be around when he gets here, what with you being Enemy Number One and all.”

Spike cocked an eyebrow. “The Head of the Dragon, huh? Sounds like a pretty important guy. What’s he coming to a place like this for?”

Faye huffed, but left his slight about her club untouched. _For now._ “He’s meeting with this big government official. Supposed to be part of some big move on the Dragon’s part, trying to get in with the Tharsis higher-ups.”

“You sound like Shin.” Spike smirked.

“You talk to Shin?”

“Oh yeah, pretty much every day.”

“What?”

“You surprised?”

“He just never mentions you, is all.”

“That’s because I ask him not to.” Spike swallowed the rest of his scotch and stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a meeting to get to.”

Faye blinked. “Wait. Wait a fucking second. It’s you?”

Spike pretended to look confused. “It’s me?”

“You’re the Head of the Dragon?”

He gave a mock bow. “In the flesh.”

“You.”

“Me.”

“You’re the Head of the Dragon?”

“You already asked me that.”

Faye laughed. And laughed again. And again. And again and again and again until she was practically crying.

Spike, for his part, just watched her, amused. “That’s funny to you?”

Faye wiped her eyes and tried to compose herself. “No, no, sorry, it’s just—oh my God, sorry, you tried…so…hard, so hard to not be…oh my God this is too funny…” she trailed off into peals of laughter.

Spike raised an eyebrow and motioned to the staircase. “You finished? I’ve got somewhere to be.” She nodded and he swiped the bottle of single malt from the table. She looked at him. “Insurance,” he shrugged.

Suddenly, she was very, very angry with him. She didn’t quite know why, but it definitely had something to do with the fact that he hid from her for over two years and also never bothered to mention that he was actually the head of the crime syndicate she was working for. And Faye Valentine was a big believer in actions over words. So she drew back and slapped him with all her might.

He staggered back, more from shock than hurt, and looked at her, wildly perplexed. “What the hell was that for?”

“I don’t know!”

“What?!”

“I mean, I do know. You- you fucking _lied_ to me, for two years, and now you show up, out of nowhere, and you just _casually_ mention that you run the Red Dragon, and you’re drinking my very expensive liquor and, I- I don’t know.”

Spike gaped at her. “None of that made any sense.”

“It doesn’t have to,” she snapped. “I’m a woman. We’re supposed to be emotional.”

“Isn’t that a bit sexist?”

“I really don’t care right now. Come on, you have to go to your meeting.”

Shin was hurrying over to them, finally finished on the dancefloor. Lola had moved to the bar, where Faye knew she was going to work on their ‘liquid courage.’ But suddenly, Faye’s nerves had disappeared completely. It was just Spike, after all, and all she had to do was walk him up to her office. Shin reached their table.

“So I see you’ve gotten reacquainted.” There was a smug look on his face that Faye did not care for, and she could tell Spike didn’t either.

“Yeah, she slapped the shit out of me.” Spike rubbed at his jaw, which was turning a bright shade of red. Shin’s face fell, and he dropped the subject. Faye moved across the floor, motioning for the two of them to follow. They did, and the trio marched up the staircase to her office.

Shin entered, and Spike was about to follow, but Faye tugged on his sleeve. She felt something bubbling up inside her. She needed to say _something_ about him being back, about him being the _Head of the fucking Dragon._ He stopped and turned to look at her. She was painfully aware that they were utterly alone in the hallway.

“Spike…”

“Yeah?”

And then, as if possessed, she slapped him again.

“ _Jesus,_ woman, what is wrong with you?”

“I don’t know!” she yelled. But she was irate, for a whole myriad of reasons, and the only way she knew how to show it was with some light violence.

She moved to slap him again, but he sidestepped easily, almost like he was bored. But when he spoke, she realized he too, was angry.

“I don’t have time for this.” He caught her hand and gripped it in his. “Stop slapping me. Now.”

She froze, staring up at him with wide eyes. She’d never seen him this angry, and it had never been directed at her. Their fights were petty and childish, and she almost always came out on top. Tonight, though, had been different from the start. He was winning, or really, had already won. He was the Head of the Dragon, and she was just the manager of some nightclub. Maybe that’s why she kept slapping him. _Am I scared of him?_

He paused, looking down at her. “Are you scared of me?” He sounded surprised, and, if she was reading him right, hurt. She shook her head, but it was too late. He’d seen her hesitate. He sighed. “Faye, I’m not going to hurt you. I just want you to stop hitting me. It hurts. Seriously.”

She shrugged, trying to come off as nonchalant, and failing miserably. “Yeah, well, I’ve had a lot of practice. Any self-respecting woman knows how to give a good slap.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “God, I keep forgetting you’re actually old.”

Faye pursed her lips, but she was only a little annoyed. “I’m sorry, do I look old to you?” She motioned to her dress. Spike looked her up and down, and she bit back a smile. _No one can resist the elegant hooker dress, not even lunkheads._

“No,” he said, a little breathless. “No, you look beautiful.” Faye’s eyes widened, and Spike tensed, like he’d just realized what he said.

Shin poked his head through the doorway. “Spike, you coming?”

“Yeah, Shin. I’m ready.” He glanced at Faye. “You did good tonight.” He reached out and gave her hair a tug. “Sex doll,” he muttered, and strode into the office, closing the door behind him.

Faye took a deep breath before heading back down the stairs. The night was just starting, and there was work to be done. But she couldn’t stop smiling.

Because, for a few minutes, Spike Spiegel had been holding her hand.

And, for some mystifying reason, that made her feel good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, we're starting to get to the burn in that slow burn tag. Or maybe just the slow part. Who's to say? Certainly not me, who's writing this thing by the seat of my pants. Also if you couldn't already tell, Shin is a hardcore Faye x Spike shipper and will never stop trying to push them together. Thank god he never died horribly in a firefight, right? RIGHT?
> 
> Next chapter, Jet deals with Spike's surprising reveal, and also there may be a rat in his wall?


	9. Can't You Hear Me Knocking?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jet tries to sleep. If only that fucking tapping noise would stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 chapters at the same time? What? I wrote this one first but wanted to keep the stylistic integrity and flow of the story? So I started the Faye one at 2 AM? Definitely not exactly what happened. But yeah, this is getting posted about a minute after Chapter 8, so if you missed that one go back and read it, lots of fun Spike and Faye banter. Not any of that in this chapter where Jet may or may not be fighting a rat. Lol but enjoy, you guys. I'm delirious but I'm very, very, happy with this chapter.

“Let me out of here, you bastards! I swear I’m gonna ring every one of your puny Dragon necks!” Jet pounded on the door, but it was no use. No one was listening, and even if they were, they wouldn’t answer him.

After Shin had said those words, _Head of the Dragon,_ Jet felt like he’d been hit by a wave. A giant, awful, traitorous wave, that make him nauseous and angry and distraught all at once. He would have collapsed to the ground if he hadn’t already been on his knees.

Spike, Head of the Dragon? It was ludicrous. It was almost comical, how absurd it was. The entirety of their friendship, Jet had known Spike to _hate_ the syndicate and his past. It depressed him, Jet knew, and there were reasons he never talked about it. Good reasons. Which seemed to have flown out the window, now. Because, damn it all to hell, Spike had gone right back, smack dab in the middle of that past he’d raged against for so long. That he supposedly died fighting against.

Well, he didn’t die, he’d lied about that. And now he’d lied about this. And Jet was done. Fucking _done._ He didn’t care that Spike was his best friend, he didn’t care that he’d spent almost two years looking for him, and he didn’t care that Spike was staring at him with those goddamn weirdo eyes of his. _Fuck him._

He lunged at his former friend. “Fuck you. You fucking traitor,” he snarled, grabbing Spike by the collar. At least a dozen pairs of hands latched onto him, trying to pull him away. Spike stood perfectly still, showing nothing. _Damn him. No goddamn feelings._ He leaned close and whispered in Spike’s ear before he was ripped away.

“I wish you had died. It’d be better than this.”

And there it was, just for a second, but it was there. That shame Jet had seen a year ago, flashing again in Spike’s eyes. Jet felt a jolt of satisfaction. But then they dragged him away, and he felt awful again.

He was expecting a cell, or worse, an execution, but what he got was an office in the same building. They sat him down in a chair and cuffed him to it, arms and legs both. _Smart, Spike-o. Never underestimate me, especially when I’m angry._ And he was furious. Maybe unreasonably so. He’d felt out of control lately, like his emotions were just seconds from breaking apart from his body and becoming sentient beings of their own. _A lot to process._ He wished he had his bonsai trees with him, something to do that would make him calmer, help him collect his thoughts. But all he had was a chair and a window, so he sat and watched the sky darken and the stars come out.

It must have been a good few hours later when Shin came in, stoic and ready for business. “Jet, we’re going to move you now, somewhere you’ll be staying for a while. Please don’t resist. We can knock you out if we need to, but I’d rather not. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine, you’re not going to prison or anything.” He gave a half-smile. “We don’t have the Chamber anymore, so you dodged that.”

“Oh yeah,” Jet said gruffly, “and where I’m going now, it’s a real five-star joint is it?”

“Actually, it is. One of our apartment buildings nearby. Very nice, walk-in closets and all that.”

Jet could see why Spike liked this guy. He might have too, under different circumstances.

“Can’t imagine I’ll be doing a lot of walking though.”

Shin chuckled. “Not outside of the apartment, no. But it’s just temporary, until Spike tells us what to do with you.”

 _My fate is in Spike’s hands, that’s nothing new._ He’d lost count of the times Spike had saved his life on a job, and vice versa. _But this time’s different._ They weren’t equals anymore, and he’d just made it pretty clear they were no longer friends either.

Either way, he didn’t see an easy way out of this, and right now he was too damn tired and overwhelmed to try. So he let himself be blindfolded, uncuffed from the chair, and led out of the building. They got into a car, and he felt Shin beside him in the backseat. He tried to memorize the turns, but it was no use. When they got out, he had no idea where they were. They went inside again; Jet assumed it was the apartment building Shin mentioned. He felt Shin’s hand on his arm, guiding him up the steps and into an elevator. They rode in silence for a few minutes. _Must be pretty high up,_ Jet thought. _Probably a killer view._

When they finally stepped off the elevator, Shin led him down a hallway before stopping short. Jet heard him tap something out on a keypad, long and full of complicated beeps. _Security code,_ Jet mused. The door opened and Shin ushered him inside. The door shut, and Jet’s blindfold was finally removed.

He was right about the view. It was stunning, the grimy city of Tharsis turned into a glowing jewel of light and stars. Shin had been right about the apartment too. It was nice, nicer than anywhere Jet had ever stayed, anyway. He felt the sudden urge to take off his boots, not wanting to ruin the plush white carpet.

There were two men on either side of the door, each carrying more guns than the whole ISSP put together. _If there was ever a personification of “overkill.”_ Jet rolled his eyes.

Shin cleared his throat. “Jet, these two gentlemen are going to be your close personal friends for the foreseeable future. There’ll be at least one of them outside your door at all times, which will be securely locked from the outside, so please don’t think of trying to escape. They’re also armed with some pretty heavy tranqs that will have you drooling on the floor for at least a week, so it’s also best not to irritate them.” One hefted a nasty looking gun in his hand, big and loaded with some kind of feathered darts. The drool-inducing tranqs, no doubt. Shin gestured to the windows. “Bulletproof glass, obviously. Not that you have a gun, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Jet scoffed, “this isn’t a prison at all.”

Shin shrugged. “It’s what you make it, Jet. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.” With that, he and the guards left the room. The door thudded shut with a heavy finality, and Jet slid down beside it, head buried in his arms. _Now what?_

That had been three days ago. He’d been given food, twice a day, and one of the guards even handed him a book at one point, something about the terraforming of Mars. It was sitting on the kitchen table, unopened. Jet had debated reading it, but he wasn’t that desperate yet. He’d been over every inch of the apartment, looking for anything he could use to escape. He came up empty handed. As far as he could tell, this apartment had never been lived in before.

He decided to go with Option 2—intimidation. The only problem was that he couldn’t exactly intimidate people who weren’t even in the room with him. And either couldn’t hear him or were ignoring him, if the lack of response to his latest threat was anything to go by. He heaved a sigh and trudged towards the bedroom.

Jet flung himself down on the bed with a groan. That was the one upside of his captivity; the bed was as soft as a cloud and felt like magic on his back. He exhaled deeply and closed his eyes. Might as well get a good night sleep before he tried something new in the morning.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap tap.

Jet’s eyes flew open.

Tap tap tap. Tap.

_Are you kidding me?_

Tap tap tap tap tap.

He rose with a grumble and stumbled over to the right wall.

Tap tap tap. Tap. Tap tap tap. Tap. Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap tap.

He gaped at the wall in disbelief, the tapping erratic and relentless.

_A ten million woolong view and they’ve got thin fucking walls._

He pounded on the wall as hard as he could. The one experience he’d had with a wall making noise turned out to be a rat that had burrowed into it during the winter.

_I hope it’s not a rat._

The tapping continued. He pounded on the wall again. “Shut up!” But the tapping kept going, persistent. With a curse, he grabbed a pillow and a blanket off the bed and stormed out of the room. He figured the couch in the living room was probably just as comfortable.

It was not.

Still, the tapping had faded away, and he settled in, ready for sleep. Not a moment later, he heard it.

Tap.

He pulled the pillow over his head and tried to focus on his breathing.

Tap.

_In. Out. In. Out._

Tap.

_In. Out._

Tap. Tap

_In. OUT._

Tap. Tap.

_IN! OUT!_

Tap.

 _Oh, for FUCK’S sake!_ He sprang up, infuriated, and stomped into the bedroom. _There’s got to be a rat or something._ He paused, searching for where the noise was loudest. _Across from the window, midway down the wall._

The tapping had continued, getting even louder and insistent.

 _I’m going to have to punch through the wall. This is maddening._ He balled his mechanical hand into a fist and cocked his arm, tensing. Then, suddenly, he dropped it. Because the tapping, he realized, wasn’t some animal scratching around. _There’s a pattern._ He pressed his ear against the wall instead, trying to decipher a rhythm.

It took a few minutes for him to finally understand. Not something, but some _one_ was on the other side, tapping out a message. He thought at first it might be an old radio code from Earth, something he’d learned in ISSP training in case their more advanced technology failed. But no, it was something else, even older. Jet only recognized it because he and Fad, bastard that he was, had learned it over a long weekend in a fit of boredom. They still used it in the military, Jet had heard, something about hostages communicating with one another.

 _So I guess this guy is a prisoner too._ Or girl. He didn’t want to assume. He sat down on the floor and leaned even closer.

Tap tap. Tap tap tap. Tap. Tap tap tap tap tap. Tap tap tap. Tap. Tap tap tap. Tap. Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap tap.

Jet listened, counting. The sequence repeated yet again.

2 taps. 3 taps. 1 tap. 5 taps. 3 taps. 1 tap. 3 taps. 1 tap. 3 taps. 4 taps.

_Hello_

“Hello? Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

5 taps. 4 taps. 1 tap. 5 taps. 4 taps. 3 taps.

_Yes_

“Just speak out loud. There’s no one around to hear us.”

3 taps. 1 tap. 1 tap. 1 tap. 3 taps. 3 taps. 4 taps. 4 taps.

_Can’t_

That was odd. Not to mention frustrating. Jet remembered he and Fad had used the code only once, because it took practically eons to spell even one word. Still, there was a person on the other side of the wall, one that wanted to talk, and what the hell else did Jet have to do?

“Okay, well I understand the code you’re using, so just, keep doing that, I guess. I’m Jet, by the way.”

More tapping.

_What day_

“It’s Wednesday, I think.”

Tapping, harder, almost frustrated.

_What date_

“Oh, oh.” Jet said the full date. There was a long pause. Then tapping again.

_Where_

“I’m not really sure, to be honest, they had me blindfolded when they brought me in. Some apartment. Must be in a nice part of town, if the view is anything to go by.”

_City_

“Huh?”

_What c-_

“Oh! Tharsis. On Mars. Geez, you must be pretty out of it, pal.”

_Asleep_

“Ah, I see. Well, welcome back; it seems we’re both stuck here, courtesy of the Red Dragon. Not sure what you did to piss them off, but I can tell you they really don’t like me.” He huffed and rubbed a hand down the wall. “Bet you were against them too, huh? Seems like their answer to any problem is just to lock it up.”

_Dragon_

“Oh yeah, they’re around. I thought they died out after that bastard Vicious and his little insurgents got crushed under that skyscraper, but the syndicate is back and bigger than ever.”

_Dead_

“Vicious? Yeah, he’s gone. I thought he survived but,” Jet snorted, “turns out I was just fooling myself.”

_Wanted_

“Huh, no, no, I didn’t want that. Not at all. But I thought he was the one running the Dragon, for a while. Until yesterday, actually. But it’s someone else.”

_Bad_

“Well, not exactly. He’s no Vicious and he’s not like the guys who ran it before, either. Just…” Jet trailed off, staring out the window.

_Sad_

Jet gave a huff of laughter. This guy _(or girl)_ could already read him like a book, even through a wall. “Yeah, you could say that. This guy, the new Head of the Dragon, he’s a real tricky one to deal with. That’s how I ended up here, anyway.”

_Who_

Jet hesitated. This person was a stranger. But, on the other hand, they were a prisoner, just like Jet. He doubted they harbored any love for the syndicate, and even if they did know Spike, it’s not like they could get out and do anything about it. Jet couldn’t even get out of here, and he could actually talk.

And for some reason, he felt better, marginally, talking to this unseen stranger. Something about it was calming. Maybe it was just having someone to talk to, even if the conversation was one-sided. He took a deep breath.

“His name is Spike Spiegel. You might’ve heard of him, if you know anything about the syndicate. Was a real up-and-comer back in the day.”

_Now_

“Now he’s the Head of the Dragon, I guess. Heard he faced off with Vicious at the old headquarters. Heard he was dead too, but that’s obviously a lie. He’s in charge of the whole show. Doing pretty well too. I was undercover in the syndicate for a while; it’s really turned over. Way more efficient, and they’re covering a lot more territory. Not to mention profits are through the roof on Red Eye.”

_Know_

“What?”

_Head_

“Yeah, I know him. Or at least I thought I did. Got in a fight the other day, actually. I knew him after he got out, the first time, when the syndicate thought he was dead. But now that he’s the Head of the Dragon, he’s different. I don’t really know who he is anymore. Like I said, we got in a fight, and I ended up here. I said some things to him, things that I kind of regret. But also don’t. I’m still figuring that out. Ha, listen to me, fussing like some thirteen-year-old girl.”

The wall was silent. Jet sighed. _Oversharing, Jet. You overshared._

“What about you, how did you end up here? Crossed the Dragon, no doubt.”

_Spike_

“You know him too?”

_Friend_

Jet scoffed. “Not surprising that you’re in here then. Spike doesn’t seem to care much about his friends these days. But you’re his friend, huh? What’s your name?”

_Was_

Jet nodded. “Seems about right. Like I said, he’s changed.”

Silence again.

“Hey, you haven’t told me your name yet, you know.”

_You know me_

“I do? And you said you’re a friend of Spike’s?”

Jet’s mind was racing. A stranger was one thing, but someone he knew, they could be an ally. Someone he could partner with to escape, and then he could find Spike and throttle some sense into the kid or die trying. The wall was still quiet, seemingly content to let Jet figure it out. _They like games then._

He racked his brain, piecing together everything he’d learned about the person on the other side of the wall. Which wasn’t much, considering all he had to go on was a few taps. Still, the code they were using was old, something only military personnel learned anymore. Or if someone was curious and liked that sort of thing. _Hmm, what else?_ They liked to sleep, apparently. A bit oblivious; they’d had no idea they were in Tharsis, or what the date was. And someone who liked to play games, could it be-

“Ed?” Jet tried to keep the elation out of his voice, but damn, he’d missed that weird little girl. It made him sad to think of her trapped in an apartment, all alone. But she was okay, from what he could tell. Granted, he couldn’t tell much, he was still happy she was on the other side of that thin wall. No wonder she hadn’t stopped tapping. _She must have recognized my voice._

The wall had been silent, as if considering his answer. Then, more tapping.

_Who_

Jet’s heart sank. Not Ed. Then who? Jet had no idea at this point; he’d ruled out Faye as soon as he deciphered the code. There was no way in hell she’d ever learn something that required math and numbers, not to mention memorization. Maybe Doohan, Spike’s mechanic? Either way, Jet wasn’t in the mood for games anymore. It wasn’t Ed, and he’d gotten his hopes up for nothing.

“Look, you’re just going to have to tell me.”

Nothing from the wall.

“Alright,” said Jet angrily, “guess that’s it then. I’m leaving now.” He stood up, frustrated. This had been a waste of time. He stalked towards the door, planning to spend a long and uncomfortable night on the couch.

He jumped at the dull bang that sounded behind him, like the person on the other side had punched the wall. He turned slowly, staring at it.

“Okay. I’m listening.” There was a moment of silence, like they were deliberating. Then:

Tap tap tap tap tap.

A pause. Jet’s breath caught in his throat, hoping, _praying_ it wouldn’t be that letter _._ Because it _couldn’t_ be that letter. The letter that only needed one more tap.

Tap.

_V_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun DUN. 
> 
> He's BACK, baby! Originally I wasn't planning on having Vicious in the story as anything other than a misdirection for Spike's Head of the Dragon thing, but honestly he's my favorite Bebop character and I feel like he was criminally underexplored in the show. Plus the dynamic between him and Spike fascinates me, so get ready for that.
> 
> Also, fun fact, the code Vicious uses is a real thing. It's called tap code, and was used most famously by prisoners during the Stalin show trials. I read about it in this book and I thought it would be really interesting to include.
> 
> Okay, in the next chapter we're going back to Spike, and boy does he have some more angst to work through. Poor guy. Not literally, because he's the Head of the Dragon, but still.


	10. 3-0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike visits some friends. Although friends might be a strong word right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with another update! I really liked writing this chapter, so hope you guys like it!

It was time to give the lighter back. He kept fiddling with it when he couldn’t sleep, which was pretty much every night. It was becoming a habit, some bastardized form of oral fixation, and he needed that to stop. He didn’t like making habits, and expressly forbade forming attachments, even if it was to an inanimate object.

Besides, the lighter fluid had pretty much run out anyway.

It was a spur of the moment decision, really, to stop at Faye’s apartment. When he woke up early that morning, the lighter in his hand yet again, he decided enough was enough. She wouldn’t be at the club, obviously, so Spike called to ask Shin where her apartment was, and he was all too happy to tell him. Spike really needed to talk to him about stopping with that smug shit.

It didn’t help that before hanging up, Shin said, “Lola’s here with me, too, so you and Faye will have the apartment _all_ to yourselves.”

“Shin, I swear to god, I’m going to demote-” But Shin had already hung up—a wise move.

 _Unlike this,_ Spike thought as he stood outside Faye’s door. _But I’m already here, so might as well. Besides, today’s supposed to be a good day, or at least that’s what people say._ He knocked on the door, twice, and waited. And waited.

And waited.

He knocked again, louder.

Still no answer.

He raised his hand again, ready to give the door a good pounding, when it swung open.

“It is _seven_ in the _morning_. _What_ do you want?”

Spike suppressed a laugh. Faye was standing at the door, her hair a platinum blonde rat’s nest that clashed with her fancy silk pajamas. Which, upon closer inspection-

“Are those monogramed?”

“You woke me up just to ask me that?” She put a hand on her hip.

“No, sorry, I came to give you this.” He held out the lighter. She stared at it, then him, still blinking sleep out of her eyes.

“Okay?” she said, confused, and reached out to take it. She sparked it experimentally. No flame. He winced. “What the- Spike! You used up all the fluid!”

He shrugged apologetically. “Well, still, I figured you’d want it back.”

“Thanks…”

An awkward silence stretched between them, and it felt weird. Normally, he couldn’t get her to shut up. He found himself wanting to talk to her, an actual conversation, not just teasing and insults. _Or worse, assault._ His jaw still bore the faintest outline of her hand from the other night. She was staring at him, he realized, lighter still clutched in her hand. He took a deep breath. _Here goes nothing._ They spoke at the same time.

“Hey, do you maybe want to go-”

“So I’m gonna go back to sleep-”

“Oh,” Spike said, “Okay.” Faye bit her lip, looking uncomfortable. “Sorry for waking you up, uh, I’ll see you around, then?”

She nodded. “Yeah, okay.” She started to close the door, but paused. “Also, sorry for slapping you the other night. I don’t think I ever apologized for that.”

He blinked. She hadn’t, but he hadn’t expected her to. He waved a hand, nonchalant. “Don’t worry about it, Valentine.” _She must think I’m crazy, showing up randomly to give her a lighter that doesn’t even work anymore. What the hell am I doing?_

She peered up at him, and he was surprised to see something like sympathy alongside the confusion in her eyes.

“Bye, Spike.”

She shut the door, and he walked down the hall to the elevator, alone.

* * *

Spike squared his shoulders and tightened his hold on the clay pot in his hand. A bonsai tree for Jet, fresh from one of the top sellers in Tharsis. _Who would’ve thought a fucking plant was so expensive?_ Not that he had to worry about money anymore, that was definitely a nice change in his life. This rift between him and Jet though—not so nice. Hence the tree. Spike was at Jet’s apartment, a week after their fight, if you could even call it that, olive branch in hand, metaphorically speaking. _Literally, it’d be a bonsai branch._

 _Stop fucking around and go in._ He took a steadying breath and punched in the twelve-digit code. He tried to not think about Vicious, lying in a bed the next apartment over. _That_ definitely wasn’t something he wanted to discuss with Jet, why Vicious was still alive. Why Spike was _keeping_ him alive. He wasn’t entirely sure himself.

When he woke up in that grandmother’s apartment—dead or murdered, he still didn’t know—Shin had filled him in pretty well, but had done nothing to prepare him for the fact that Vicious was in the other room, in a coma but very much alive. Spike had spent a long day deciding whether or not to murder Vicious right then and there, for good this time, but ultimately chose to let him keep breathing. _For now,_ he had thought. _I’ll probably kill him tomorrow._ That had been over two years ago, and Vicious was still alive. Still in a coma though, and that annoyed Spike. _If he was awake, I could have killed him by now._ But Vicious had been asleep and Spike didn’t want to kill him without seeing the light fade from his eyes. So until they opened again, he wouldn’t.

But how the hell could he explain any of that to Jet? He already thought Spike was fucked up enough.

The lock clicked and Spike opened the door. He stepped inside, taking care not to crush the tree. It was his only advantage. Jet was sitting at the table, reading. He looked up when the door opened, but when he saw it was Spike, he buried his face back in his book.

Spike set the tree down on the table between them, a quasi-peace offering. _Deep breath. We’re aiming for a reconciliation. Try to be nice. Explain._

“Look, Jet, I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. And I want to explain everything, really.” Jet glared at him and Spike, predictably, looked out the window. He’d never been one for confrontation, not when avoiding the issue proved to work so much better. Not to mention it was a hell of a lot easier.

Did Jet deserve an explanation? Absolutely. Was Spike going to give him one? Doubtful. Even though that’s exactly what he came here to do.

It’s hard to explain something you yourself don’t fully understand. Worse than that, Spike found that he didn’t particularly _care_ if he justified his actions to Jet or not. Just a week ago, he’d been wracked with guilt, but it was like a switch had been flipped, and he was back to apathetic old Spike. He’d never been one to examine emotions beyond their brief flickers through his psyche, and he wasn’t about to start now. But maybe he should. These were the things he wrestled with, what kept him up at night playing with Faye’s lighter. Jet would probably know what to do; he was the most emotionally sound out of all of them.

_Just talk to him, Spiegel. He’s your friend. Just tell him what you’ve been thinking lately. That there’s something seriously wrong with you. And it’s worse than before._

He opened his mouth, but Jet spoke first.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to trouble you; I know you’re really busy running a crime syndicate. Besides, I think I’ve got a new best friend anyway.” Jet was using a voice Spike recognized, the one he affected with sarcasm to cover up whatever he was actually feeling. Spike knew how he was when he got like this, petulant and petty. Confiding in him right now was out of the question.

“What are we, twelve?” Spike asked, suddenly exasperated. Jet crossed his arms and Spike threw up his hands. “Okay, you got me. Who am I being replaced with?”

“Well, it’s not official, but Vicious and I have been getting pretty close recently.”

Spike blinked. That was unexpected. Jet knew about Vicious, then. But that didn’t explain- “You and Vicious? He’s awake?”

Jet looked smug; clearly, he thought he’d landed a blow. Spike kind of wished he had. Seemed like the sort of thing that would make you feel bad if your emotions weren’t fucking broken.

“Yeah, we’ve been talking.”

He shook his head. Jet didn’t know anything, then. Well, he figured out Vicious was in the apartment next to his, but that didn’t surprise Spike. Jet had always been a good detective. “That’s not possible, Jet.”

“Oh yeah?” said Jet, defensive. “How would you know? Haven’t bothered to ‘deal with me’ until now.”

He was getting really pissed, Spike could tell. He was starting to air-quote, a Level 6 technique on the ‘Jet Black Rage Scale.’ _He’s upset, too. Maybe because you stabbed him in the back about twelve times in the past two weeks._ Spike pinched the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t wanted to deal with this today, and Jet acting like a sulky teenager was not helping.

“It’s not possible because Vicious can’t talk. He’s on a ventilator.”

Jet shrugged. “We’ve been using code. Old military stuff.”

That too, was unexpected. Spike felt a flash of annoyance at Jet and Vicious having something in common. Jet was looking smug again, and Spike was sincerely at a loss. He must have fallen into some strange parallel universe, one that seemed to think it made sense for Jet and Vicious to become friends. Through a wall, no less. Christ, and today of all days.

“What did he say to you?” He was still trying to get a handle on this bizarre turn of events.

“Sorry, Spike-o, but that’s between friends.”

_Alright. I tried. Honestly, what the hell am I even doing?_

Spike shrugged. “Suit yourself. I gotta go. Don’t do anything stupid.” He walked over to the door. Jet glowered at him. This visit had not worked out the way Spike had wanted it to.

“I would tell you the same thing, but between you leading the Dragon and keeping Vicious alive I’d say you’ve cleared that by at least a mile.”

Spike paused, gritting his teeth. “Take care of yourself, Jet. And your tree, too.” He was out the door before Jet could respond.

* * *

The room was silent, save for the familiar whirs and beeps of the machines responsible for keeping Vicious alive. Spike had been here almost every day in the past year, ever since they’d moved out of that dead woman’s apartment and on with their lives. Only Vicious, still comatose, stayed as he was, untouched by the passage of time. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. His hair had grown, reaching past his shoulders and spilling in silver waves over the pillowcase. Otherwise, he looked as he always did, taut and tired. Two years in a coma and he still hadn’t slept enough.

Apparently, he’d woken up in the past week, and no one had thought to tell Spike. That annoyed him, partly because being the Head of the goddamn Dragon was supposed to mean something, and partly because he really wanted to talk to Vicious. He wasn’t even sure why. He’d been talking to him for the better part of a year, slipping in late at night to mutter nonsense in the dark until he felt relaxed enough to go home and at least pretend to sleep.

But those conversations would be much different if Vicious could actually respond. Maybe he would, now. After Spike’s disastrous afternoon with Jet, the doctors in charge of Vicious’ recovery had beeped him and said they were going to take him off the ventilator. It took all of Spike’s willpower not to rip it out himself. He had a lot to say to that bastard, and a lot that bastard needed to answer for.

He went back to his place first and grabbed Vicious’ katana. It had been lying in the corner of his bedroom, gathering dust. After the big showdown, one of Shin’s men had grabbed it, later presenting it to Spike like an ancient spoil of war. He’d kept it, of course, but never used it. It was Vicious’ weapon. _Too personal. Give me a gun any day._ It was still wickedly sharp though; he’d almost cut himself in the elevator.

Spike didn’t know why he brought it, but it just felt right, like some twisted Get-Well-Soon present. _I’m giving everyone gifts today. God, the irony._

When he got back to Vicious’ apartment, the doctors were already getting down to business. Spike stood at attention, like he was overseeing the procedure, but honestly, he had no idea what they were doing. He leaned against the door frame, agitated. This was taking forever. The katana hung loosely from one hand and his demeanor must have been more intimidating than he intended, because the doctors sped up. That proved to be much worse than going slow.

Spike wasn’t normally squeamish, but the very sound, alternating dry scrapes and wet squelches, made his stomach turn. The tube was halfway out when Vicious woke up and started gagging and spasming like a drowning victim. It was then that Spike stepped out of the room, more than happy to let the doctors handle it.

They came out a few minutes later and gave him a brief update. Everything seemed to have gone smoothly. Spike raised an eyebrow— _it didn’t sound smooth—_ but he let it drop. After they left, everything was silent again. Spike went back into the bedroom. The katana suddenly felt different in his hand, almost like it was fighting against him. If he didn’t know better, he would say it could sense Vicious, close by but just out of reach. He gripped it tighter. It would be so easy, right now, to end it. Just one swing. Done.

Vicious’ words came to mind, unbidden.

_“I’m the only one who can keep you alive. And I’m the only one who can kill you.”_

It seemed like the reverse was true as well. They were tied together, somehow, and that’s why the katana stayed sheathed, dormant and waiting for its true master. Killing Vicious, as he was now, scared Spike. He’d told himself it was because that wouldn’t be honorable. It wouldn’t follow their corrupt code of morals that allowed them to try to murder each other but only with their own designated weapons. These were the thoughts he had almost every day. To kill or not to kill. Win definitively or fight fairly. Spike shook his head.

“Why are we so fucked up, Vicious?”

Vicious, of course, said nothing. Spike wanted him to wake up, and wake up _now._ It had become this gnawing need, a need that he hadn’t felt in a long time, not since _(don’t think about her)._ He didn’t want to think about her now, he was too scared. Scared that if he did, like with everything else recently, he wouldn’t feel anything.

_Goddamn coward, that’s what you are._

_Yeah, well, I’m the Head of the fucking Red Dragon, so it doesn’t really matter._

_Think about Julia. Handle your issues._

_How about Vicious instead, he’s right here and he’s dangerous._

_He just came out of a coma. **Julia.**_

**_Vicious._ **

_Why are you still obsessing over him?_

_He makes me feel truly alive._

Spike jolted out of his trance. He found himself doing that more and more often, forcing confessions from his own subconscious and hating what he found. He especially hated this one.

Because that was the honest, ugly truth. The thing he could never explain to Jet, and could only marginally explain to himself. Vicious made him feel, even if that feeling was hate. Spike had decided, in that first moment he saw Vicious again, that he’d rather be hateful than numb. So Vicious kept breathing. And Spike kept living in halves, waiting for him to wake up so he could hate him. Then he could live whole.

But he was here now, and Vicious was still asleep. So no, the hate wasn’t back yet, the anger lying dormant underneath layers of apathy.

Spike moved towards the bed gingerly. He was half expecting Vicious to leap out of it and strangle him, but seeing as he hadn’t moved in two years, that seemed unlikely. _Not impossible though._

_Hang on, that’s new._

The wall next to the bed had a dent in it. Spike moved to the other side of the bed, where Vicious’ hand was dangling off the edge. Spike shook his head, amazed. _In a coma for two years, and the first thing he does is punch a fucking wall. Ravenous beast indeed._

Spike noticed red on the floor, splattered drops that, because it was Vicious, could only be blood. Spike could see matching red on his hand, spilled down his knuckles and over the tips of his fingers.

He tiptoed into the bathroom, grabbed a towel, and ran it under the sink. He moved to the side of the bed and examined Vicious’ hand. The blood had dried, leaving deep stains in the pale skin. Spike frowned. He wondered how long ago this had happened, and why no one had done anything about it. He worked methodically, firm strokes of the towel slowly removing stubborn flakes of red. The blood washed off to reveal skin that was mottled and bruised. Spike massaged the hand gently, checking for possible breaks. _What the hell am I doing? No, seriously, what the **hell** am I doing?_

The hand twitched. Spike looked up to see Vicious stir and blink slowly.

“Hey,” Spike whispered. “It’s me, back again. I brought your katana.”

Gray eyes darted from side to side, unfocused. He might’ve been looking around for his katana, but it was impossible to tell. The doctors had pumped some serious drugs into his IV after they took the ventilator out, so Spike was surprised his eyes were even open at all.

Vicious coughed. Once, twice, and then he couldn’t stop—dry, cracking explosions that remined Spike of gunshots. He felt Vicious’ hand tighten around his own, still strong after all this time, and bony and sharp as ever. He tried not to grimace, instead reaching over to grab the glass of water on the bedside table.

He passed it to Vicious, who took it with his trembling free hand. He drank it, still lying down, and Spike was secretly worried he would choke. He also secretly hoped Vicious would spill it all over himself, but he was as smooth as ever. _Graceful bastard,_ Spike thought bitterly. When _he_ woke up after their fight, he had to be spoon-fed like a toddler for a month. But then again, Vicious had always been the faster healer.

Vicious tried put the glass back on the table, reaching blindly. It teetered on the edge and almost toppled over, but Spike caught it and pushed it farther back on the tabletop. Vicious’ eyes were closed again, and his breathing had evened out. Spike, figuring that was probably the most interaction he’d get today, stood and released Vicious’ hand. He moved as quietly as he could to the trashcan in the corner of the room and tossed the bloody towel into it.

He nodded, satisfied, and crept towards the door. He paused, hand hovering on the door handle, like he was waiting for something. For what, exactly, he didn’t know. A noise punctured the silence, harsh and low. It took Spike a moment to realize the sound was coming from Vicious. Spike turned and studied him, wondering if he needed more water. But he was trying to speak, mumbling something and looking annoyed. Or maybe distressed. Most emotions looked the same on him.

“What?” Spike asked. “Can’t hear you.”

Vicious cleared his throat and Spike cringed. It sounded like he was swallowing broken glass. He spoke again—a grating rasp, like a blade running over stone.

“Happy birthday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I liked the style of this chapter a lot, it was something I'd had in my head for a while. Tried to give little hints throughout starting with the title and then have that one sentence at the end be the little reveal, so hopefully that worked for you guys. Also super fun to write a little bit of Vicious and delve into Spike's relationship with him. Let me know what you guys thought!
> 
> Honestly don't have next chapter totally figured out yet, but I know we'll be going back to Faye. She's probably going to buy some new lighter fluid, though, because some lunkhead used all of it.


	11. Close Only Counts in Hand Grenades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pictures are worth a thousand words. Faye's not sure she likes what these ones have to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New update, sorry it's a bit later. Thanks for sticking with me so far, I'm glad you guys are enjoying the story!

_You’re already here, you come bearing gifts, and besides, it’s not even that late._

Faye stood in front of the door, waiting. Stalling, really, trying to convince herself this was a remotely good idea. After Spike’s visit the other day, she couldn’t get him out of her head. The whole thing had been bizarre—giving back her dead lighter, almost asking her to hang out—not to mention the way he’d looked at her the whole time. Like he was drowning, and she was the only lifeboat.

It was a lot for any person to handle at seven in the morning, and especially one who’d only gone to bed an hour before. She hadn’t really processed the weirdness of the situation until she woke up again, considerably later, and realized that he’d been acting strangely. Almost every interaction with him had been strange lately, come to think of it. And now she couldn’t _stop_ thinking about it.

Faye hadn’t planned on this, but she had finished early at the club and the good bottle of single malt was sitting unfinished on the desk in her office. It was just impulse, really, something she hadn’t acted in a long, long time, not since she started managing Fantaisie _._

_Stop fucking around, Valentine._

She knocked.

It was silent for a few seconds, and then she heard movement. Getting closer. _Oh God this was a bad idea-_

Spike opened the door, groggy and disoriented. Her heart gave a funny little squeeze. Something about his messy hair and the way he was blinking at her, it was adorable _. Stop._

“Sorry,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “I was sleeping.” His voice, still rough and raspy with sleep, made something in her stomach flutter. **_Stop._**

“Well, wake up, because I’m here and I brought a peace offering.”

He rubbed his eyes and glanced at the bottle in her hand. “Didn’t know we were fighting.”

“We’re always fighting. Are you gonna let me in or not?”

Spike stepped aside and she entered the apartment. It was nice. Nicer than her own place, if she was being honest. But it looked unlived in, definitely not like a home. Not that she was an expert on the concept of home, but, based on the empty state of this place, she figured she knew more than Spike.

Faye looked around for a few more moments, taking it all in. _Not that there’s much._ Her gaze landed on Spike.

“You were sleeping in that?” She pointed to his clothes—a rumpled suit and that same coat she’d seen the other night. He still had his shoes on too, she noticed.

He shrugged. “I fell asleep on the couch as soon as I got in. Long day.”

“Well, good thing I have this then.” Faye shook the bottle of scotch enticingly. “Care for a drink?”

Spike nodded. “Sure, just let me go change. There’s glasses in the cabinet.”

He slipped off to the bedroom, and Faye was relieved. Something about seeing him so relaxed made her uneasy. They’d lived together on the Bebop, but this was different, more domestic. It felt like she was intruding on something private, something meant for someone else to see. _Julia,_ she thought. _This is what Julia saw, late at night._ She shivered and went into his kitchen.

Like everything else in the apartment, it was sparse. The polished cabinets were completely empty, except for a bowl, a plate, and a single glass. _Only one of everything. He doesn’t get many visitors, then._ She suddenly felt like crying. But that was ridiculous. His other dishes were probably just dirty.

But there was nothing in the sink, and a cursory search of both the living room and bathroom didn’t turn up anything either. _This is insane. No adult only has one glass. He has to be hiding them somewhere._ She marched down the hall and rapped on his door. It was ajar, and the force of her knock sent it flying open. She flounced into the room, determined. _If I have to drink out of a bowl, I will scream._

“Hey Spike, do you have any other- oh, shit, sorry.”

If she thought it felt private before, this was downright intimate. Spike was facing away from her, a shirt in his hands. And very much not on his body. _God, why doesn’t he have a shirt on? Maybe because he said he was going to change, idiot. Such an idiot._

_Why am I even freaking out? Nothing I haven’t seen before._

And that was true, she’d seen Spike in various states of undress on multiple occasions, healing from a litany of injuries aboard the Bebop. Hell, she’d even changed some of his bandages once or twice.

But this, just like earlier, felt different. _I’m not supposed to see this._

He turned to face her, pulling the shirt over his head. Faye’s eyes widened; the scar running down his chest flashed briefly, like the world’s most gruesome tattoo. She touched her own chest instinctively, imagining the pain. Spike noticed.

“Don’t worry, it’s worse than it looks.” She blinked, and he laughed. “Yeah, hurt like a bitch for a long time. He got me good, that’s for sure.” She stared at him, now fully clothed— _thank God—_ still processing.

“That’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

It was his turn to blink. “Ah, gee, thanks, Faye.”

She startled out of her daze. “No, sorry, just, it’s pretty intense, that’s all.”

He was looking at her strangely. He narrowed his eyes. “Wanna touch it?”

“Ew, what? No!”

Spike laughed again. “Right, I forgot girls don’t like that kind of stuff. Trust me, Jet would be all over this. It feels crazy. He’d think it’s cool.”

Faye shook her head. “Sometimes I just don’t get you guys.” She was about to suggest they pour a drink, but something stopped her. The look on his face, the other morning, came to mind. The emotion in his eyes, something she hadn’t been able to place until now.

_Loneliness._

All he’d really wanted that day was a friend. And, God help her, she was his friend, even if they both didn’t act like it.

So instead, she sighed and beckoned him closer. “Okay, Spiegel. Let’s see it.”

“Really?” he asked, surprised.

“Really. I can be cool.”

He snorted. “Yeah, I’ll believe that when I see it.” He shuffled closer and lifted the hem of his shirt.

She raised an eyebrow. “Then watch this.” Slowly, she ran her hand over the scar, from the bottom of his ribs up to his collarbone. The way it slashed across his chest; even a blind person could see it was made by a sword. Faye shuddered at the thought of that katana, and the person who wielded it with expert cruelty.

Spike cocked his head. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, taking a breath. “It just feels, um…crazy.” And it did, hard and bumpy in some places, yet smooth and velvety soft in others. She was suddenly very conscious of her hand, resting against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat, solid and steady. Her own was beating wildly. _Damn him._ She jerked her hand away.

Spike grinned. “Told you.” He pulled his shirt down and stepped back. “What was it you were going to ask me?”

Faye gaped at him for a moment. “What? Oh! I wanted to know if you had any more glasses; I could only find the one.”

He nodded. “Sure do.” He walked out of the bedroom and down the hall to the bathroom, Faye trailing behind.

“I already checked in there,” she said. He smirked, and pointed to his toothbrush, resting on the sink in what she now realized was, in fact, a glass. He dumped the toothbrush into the sink and rinsed out the glass before holding it up for her approval.

“Will this work?” he asked, mockingly.

“Better than a bowl, anyway,” she shot back. They made their way to the kitchen, and Faye was relieved yet again. These quiet moments made her violently uncomfortable. She was experiencing a lot of new emotions recently, ones she was not equipped to handle for a multitude of reasons; the least of which being that Spike seemed to share none of the nervousness she felt every time they were around each other.

He poured a glass for both of them, maneuvering the bottle so as not to spill even a drop. His movements vaguely reminded her of Haru. _I wonder what he’s up to._ Spike looked up and caught her staring.

“What?”

She shook her head. “Nothing, I just can’t get over your hair.” She reached out and tugged lightly on the ends. It felt silky, nothing like she’d imagined. Not that she imagined touching his hair. _Stop._

He swatted her hand away. “Hey, that’s my move.” He handed her a glass, then flicked her hair, as if to make a point. “How’d you find my place, by the way? Not great if anyone can just knock on the Head of the Dragon’s front door.”

Faye huffed. “I’m not _anyone._ ” Spike raised an eyebrow. She rolled her eyes. “Okay, Shin told me. He seemed a little too excited about it, actually.”

Spike grimaced and sipped his scotch. “Yeah, he can go really overboard sometimes.” He took another drink. “Starting to get on my nerves,” he muttered.

Faye felt affronted. _Spike **wishes** he could get this. Stop. _She took a drink too, a deep one, finishing her glass in one pull. She slammed it back down on the tabletop. “Hit me again.”

Spike laughed bemusedly. “Woah, okay, champ! Thought you didn’t really like this stuff.” He refilled her glass.

She felt the alcohol, hitting the back of her throat and making her nose burn. “I don’t. That’s why I have to drink it so fast.” She took another sip and shuddered.

“I mean, you don’t _have_ to, but whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Which I gather you don’t do a lot.” _Where did that come from?_

Spike paused. “What makes you say that?”

Faye shrugged. _Might as well be honest at this point._ “You look like shit. And you fell asleep with your shoes on.”

“Fair enough.” Spike took a sip.

Faye took a bigger one. “So why can’t you sleep? Monsters under your bed?”

Spike smirked. “Yeah, something like that.” Faye stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate. He took a deep breath. “I guess, I just, I can’t-”

A shrill tone pierced the air. Spike scrubbed a hand over his face. “Shit.” He pulled out his beeper, checking the number. “Sorry, I have to take this. Feel free to keep drinking, I’ll catch up after.” He stood, holding his glass, and moved into the living room, out of sight and out of earshot.

Faye sighed. _This close to having a serious conversation._ Even though she wasn’t sure she wanted that. What she did want was another drink. She downed the rest of her second with a shiver and poured another. She didn’t normally drink like this, but on occasion it was good to have an excuse to be messy. Or awkward. Or however she felt when Spike was around these days.

She sighed again and drummed her fingers on the table, bored. She looked around the kitchen, searching for any signs that an actual person lived here, but she had been right the first time. It looked like it came straight out of a magazine—glossy, luxurious, and utterly devoid of human influence.

Something sparked in Faye’s mind, a rabid curiosity—no doubt fueled by the scotch—to find even one thing in this apartment that was explicitly Spike’s. She rose from the table, glass in hand, and walked down the hallway. She glanced into the living room; Spike was pacing back and forth, clearly in deep conversation with whoever was on the other line.

The bathroom proved to be a bust. Nothing special; even the shampoo was generic. She had secretly hoped to find something hilariously self-indulgent, like bath oil or incense, but no such luck. Somewhere on her walk from the bathroom to the bedroom, she finished her drink.

The scotch was hitting harder than she intended, and she sat down heavily on Spike’s bed, her glass rolling around harmlessly over the covers.

Faye studied his bedroom. Like the rest of the place, it was bare. But over in the corner, something she hadn’t noticed earlier-

_Bingo._

Three picture frames, on the nightstand. They weren’t anything special, just cheap black plastic, but she could tell they were important. Important enough that they were the only decorations in his entire apartment, anyway.

Faye moved closer to examine them. The first showed two men and a woman, all smiling. She recognized the older man, even without his throat cut. _Mao._ She didn’t know the other two, but if they knew Mao, they had probably known Spike too.

She didn’t know how to feel about the second picture.

It was a photograph of Spike and Vicious, clearly taken during their early years in the syndicate. They were standing in front of a brick wall, all brooding stares and smoldering cigarettes. Part of her wanted to laugh; they were projecting that air of casual arrogance young men so often mistake for confidence. On the other hand, she felt a little bit sick that Spike would have this next to his bed. Vicious was a monster, she’d seen and felt it firsthand. _But we all seem better in death._

 _Where did I hear that?_ She might have read it somewhere, once. She didn’t believe it, personally, but maybe Spike did. She put down the picture, not wanting to think about Vicious, or Spike’s past with him, any longer.

The third frame was facedown, closer to the edge than the others. Almost like Spike had tossed it there. Like he’d been looking at it earlier. Holding it. She turned it over.

Julia stared back at her, cold and beautiful. Faye’s breath caught in her throat. The glass was smudged. _Fingerprints,_ she realized. An image flashed through her mind, one of Spike, lying alone in his bed and tracing Julia’s face, frozen beyond the glass.

Julia was gone, and so was Vicious, and so was Mao. _It’s a memorial._ It worried her—Spike living among the dead, acting like he was ready to join them at a moment’s notice. She didn’t like it. The photo of Julia bothered her especially, and she couldn’t quite figure out why. _That coat. It looks familiar._

That’s when it hit her. Julia’s coat was red, the same shade as Faye’s magic hooker dress. The other night at Fantaisie came rushing back—Spike holding her hand, tugging her hair, calling her beautiful. Faye shook her head.

Blonde strands fell in front of her eyes, and she felt sick again. _I’m so fucking stupid. No wonder he keeps talking about my hair._ She knew, realistically, that she and Julia didn’t look that similar. But she was a blonde now, and she’d worn red, like some budget doppelganger. Spike had looked at her that night, seen Julia, and called her beautiful. Called _Julia_ beautiful. Not Faye. Faye was just the stand-in. Close, but not quite. _And close only counts in-_

“Faye?”

She whirled around, startled. Spike was standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. She hid the picture behind her back.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, nothing much, just looking for a blanket. Your place is freezing. I mean, have you even heard of a thermostat?” She was hoping he’d rise to the bait, lame as it was, but he just walked wordlessly to the closet and stepped inside. He emerged a moment later, a thick blue blanket in hand.

“Here. It’s warm, I promise.”

Faye took it with one hand, the other holding the frame behind her. In one swift move, she brought it to rest under the blanket, still hidden. Spike didn’t seem to notice anything.

She was just congratulating herself on her sleight of hand when the picture slipped from her grasp. It fell to the ground with a loud clatter and both she and Spike winced at the sound of breaking glass.

Spike bent to examine the mess. She dropped down next to him, mortified.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, really, it just happened- the pictures were just sitting there, and I was looking at them-”

“Faye.”

“-and I was going to put it back, I _swear,_ but then you came in and I panicked and-”

“Faye.”

“-I can replace it, seriously- I get paid a lot- well, I guess you’d know that because you’re the one paying me-”

“ _Faye._ ”

She inhaled and bit her lip.

“It’s okay. Really. It was an accident.”

“Are you sure?” _Damn this scotch._ She was only doubtful when she was drunk.

“Very sure.”

How was he so calm? Faye realized she’d never seen Spike drunk. Even now, he was totally in control. It was a little bit unsettling, seeing the few rough edges she’d known on the Bebop sanded down to something she could only describe as Spike’s high-efficiency model.

“Okay, well, at least let me clean it up.” She started brushing bits of glass into a pile. Most of the pieces were pretty big; she could probably glue them back together. _And it would only take five hours._ The pieces were big, but there were a lot of them.

“Hey,” Spike said, reaching over. “Hey, Faye, stop, leave it. I’ll get it.”

But she couldn’t stop; there was something in her, embarrassment or regret or something else, causing her to collect the pieces feverishly. She had to fix this. _Another thing I wasn’t supposed to see._ If Faye was good at one thing, it was knowing where she belonged. And she didn’t belong here, in Spike’s personal space, among his personal stuff, and invading his personal memories.

Spike tried again. “Faye, really. It’s okay. Just leave it.” He grabbed for her hands.

“No, Spike, it’s fine, I got it. Almost done- ah! Shit!” She’d just stuck herself with a shard of glass. _Damn, that hurts._ Not terribly, but she was definitely bleeding. _If I get blood on his carpet, I will kill myself._ She hissed and curled her hand up to her chest.

“See, I told you to leave it. Are you okay? Let me see.” He reached out and took her hand, examining her palm with a critical eye. “Not too bad, it looks shallow.” He stood and drew her up with him. “I’ve got some stuff in the bathroom, come on.”

She followed dumbly, sitting on the edge of the sink when he directed her to. He bent down and rummaged in the cabinet underneath it for a few moments, before coming back up with gauze and a bottle of disinfectant. He knelt between her legs, and Faye blushed furiously at a particularly lewd thought that flashed through her mind. _I’m never drinking again._

Faye watched his hands as he worked, first removing the glass, then cleaning off the blood with a towel. “This’ll sting,” he warned, before splashing her cut with the disinfectant. Faye inhaled sharply, and he squeezed her hand gently. She eyed him suspiciously, watching as he wrapped strips of gauze around her palm with the speed and ease of a medical professional.

“I did this just the other day,” he murmured.

“Why are you being so fucking weird?” she snapped.

He looked up at her curiously. “I’m not being weird.”

“ _Yes_ , you are.”

“I think you’re just drunk, Faye.”

She glared at him. “Maybe so.” She suddenly felt very tired, and stifled a yawn behind her free hand. Spike noticed, of course.

“Tired?”

“No, I’m fine.”

He hummed. “I bet.” He tied off the bandage and released her hand. It felt cold without the warm touch of his fingers. “Stay the night, I don’t mind. Better than you running around out in the streets anyway.”

“What, you don’t think I can take care of myself?”

He laughed. “I think you’d be fine. It’s everyone else I’m worried about.”

Faye crossed her arms. “But you only have one bed.” There was a strange fluttering in her chest, something in her that liked the idea of her sharing a bed with Spike. _Stop._

“I know,” he said slowly. “You can take it; I’ll sleep on the couch.”

The fluttering died with a pang of disappointment. “I can’t take your bed. I can sleep on the couch.”

Spike shook his head. “No, no, don’t worry about it, I’ve got something to take care of first anyway.”

She was about to protest further, but decided to let it go. She _was_ really tired. She nodded and hopped down off the sink before moving towards the bathroom door. “Well, ‘night, then.”

Spike gave her a lazy wave, already distracted and cleaning up the mess in the sink. “Watch out for the monsters.”

Faye walked into the bedroom and took off her shoes before crawling under the heavy comforter. The pillows hadn’t been used, and the bed was cold. _I wonder if he ever actually sleeps in it._ The sheets smelled like fresh linen, but that was all—nothing that reminded her of Spike. Not that she thought about what he smelled like. _Stop._ She rolled over and fell asleep, the single malt knocking her out almost immediately. When she woke up in the morning, Spike was gone.

But Julia’s picture was on the nightstand again, the broken glass glued back together with impossible tenderness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm, seems like they may be building towards....something? 
> 
> I originally struggled with the plot of this chapter but I got more and more into it as it went on; writing Faye and Spike's dynamic is really fun and I love coming up with their snappier bits of dialogue.
> 
> Come back next chapter to catch up with Jet! We'll take a look at how he's handling having a ruthless murderer for a next-door neighbor.


	12. Vicious, Interrupted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time, Jet really does punch through the wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update! Definitely a shorter chapter, but something that I thought worked best from Jet's point of view.

Jet had been in the apartment for two weeks, and he was ready to jump out the window. _If only the glass wasn’t fucking bulletproof._ He’d already tried to break it once, in a fit of rage. The metal chair he’d thrown at it hadn’t produced even the faintest crack.

So now he was onto his latest plan, one that was absurd by even the most generous of terms. Jet knew his door was locked from the outside, and he couldn’t get out that way. But Vicious, according to Spike, was immobile and on a ventilator. He couldn’t get out no matter what, so maybe _his_ door was open. Or at least locked from the inside. Jet knew it was a long shot, but he’d run out of other ideas and he’d already read the book about terraforming Mars three times.

The reason the idea was truly absurd though, was because the only way he could get into Vicious’ apartment was through their shared wall. Granted, it was a very thin wall, but still. Either way, he had to try.

The wall in question had been silent ever since Vicious had revealed himself. Jet had tried several times to start a conversation, but he’d never gotten a response. Whether Vicious was unconscious or just ignoring him, he didn’t know. He guessed he’d probably find out now.

Jet took a deep breath and braced his mechanical shoulder against the wall. With a grunt, he pulled back and slammed into it, hard as he could. The wall dented, like he knew it would, and he bent to try again.

After several minutes, he had a pretty good-sized hole, enough that he could see into the dim expanse of Vicious’ room, lit only minimally by the setting sun. Vicious himself, though, remained to be seen. Jet had worked his arm through, busting up pieces of plaster and kicking them aside. He examined the hole, and reasoned it was about ready.

He backed up as far as he could, all the way to the far end of the kitchen, the hole in his line of sight. With a roar, he ran full-speed towards the wall and threw himself at it with all his might.

He busted through with a cracking smash and fell flat on his face. _It worked!_ Groaning, he struggled to his feet and staggered towards the door, hoping none of the guards outside his own apartment had heard the commotion.

Moving through the semi-darkness, he glimpsed Vicious, unconscious but otherwise very much alive, shifting restlessly in his sleep. Jet examined him briefly, the silvery hair long and unkempt, dark circles in permeant residence under his eyes. He was hooked up to an IV, but not the ventilator Spike had mentioned. _Must have taken it out._ He felt almost hurt, momentarily, that Vicious could speak to him now but hadn’t.

Jet shook his head; he didn’t have time for this, and besides, that was an insane thing to think. He rushed out of the room and headed for the front door. He gave a sigh of relief; it looked completely normal. Nothing like Jet’s door, one with metal bolts and mechanisms that suggested a dangerous criminal lurked inside. _How ironic,_ he thought, before pulling on the handle.

The door didn’t open. Jet fumbled with the deadbolt, but it wouldn’t budge. Locked from the outside, just like Jet’s apartment. He roared in frustration, slapping his hands against the wall. Even if he tried to break it down, the guards would notice. The plan would only have worked if he’d been able to sneak out quietly. _All that for nothing._

He trudged dejectedly back toward the bedroom. _Guess I have to exit the way I came in._ He pushed open the door and halted in his tracks. Vicious was awake, dazed and unsteady, but still piercing him with a cold stare.

“You broke my wall,” he mumbled. Jet shivered at his voice, deep and gravelly. _He must gargle broken glass or something._ Jet didn’t know anyone else who sounded like that.

Vicious was blinking slowly at him, clearly fighting against whatever concoction of drugs that IV was pumping into his arm.

Jet nodded slowly. “I did.” He moved closer to the bed, cautious. “I was trying to get out of here.”

Vicious continued to blink at him, eyes empty. It was unsettling, to say the least. Jet tried to fill the silence, uncomfortable. “No luck, though, your door is secured just like mine. Sorry about the wall; someone will probably come to fix it. And they might kill me for that, I’m not sure. So you may not have a neighbor anymore, but somehow I don’t think you’ll mind.”

Vicious’ gaze, no longer focused on Jet, wandered aimlessly around the room. Jet wondered how long he’d been out of it. From what Spike told him, he surmised Vicious had been in a coma until very recently. Jet didn’t know much about comas, but he knew enough that even after someone came out of one, it was slow going.

Vicious grunted, and Jet stepped closer. He was gesturing weakly, pointing at something with a shaky hand. Jet looked to his right to see a katana propped against the wall. _Must be his._ He’d heard Spike mention the katana before—and the expert way Vicious had wielded it—with something close to admiration in his voice.

Jet pointed to it as well. “What, you want that?” Vicious nodded once, tersely, his eyes slipping closed. Jet shook his head. “Sorry, pal, no can do. Doesn’t seem like a good idea.” Vicious threw his head back against the pillow and gripped the sheets in frustration. He was struggling to stay conscious; Jet could tell. There was a hint of anguish in his movements that made Jet pause.

He looked up at the ceiling, debating. Giving Vicious his most prized weapon was certifiably insane. And yet, Jet felt a deep resentment welling inside him. Resentment towards Spike, for leaving him to rot in here, just like Vicious. Keeping Jet, his best friend, the same way he kept his mortal enemy. Alive but trapped, with no hope of escape.

He’d always hated Vicious, blamed him for all the worst parts of Spike. But he was starting to realize that Spike could be terrible all on his own.

He looked down and was startled to see Vicious staring directly at him, eyes open and full of more emotion than Jet had ever imagined he was capable of. Eyes that pleaded for even the slightest bit of compassion. Where had he seen that look before?

“Please,” he rasped.

And, astonishingly, he started to cry.

There were no hiccupping sobs or mournful weeping, but tears still shone, unmistakably, as they leaked in silent, silver trails from the corners of his eyes onto the pillowcase below.

Jet stared at him, openmouthed. Vicious was crying in front of him. _Vicious._ Was _crying._ And he was staring right back at Jet, that look still on his face.

The look, Jet suddenly realized, reminded him of Spike. The Spike he’d first met, fresh from the syndicate. The one who’d been lost and miserable and looking for a friend, but too afraid to ask for one. _Damn this soft heart of mine. Better to have and to hurt, right?_ The memory of Spike, as he once was, guided Jet’s hand to the katana. _Every monster was once a man. And this man was just in a coma. What could he **really** do right now? _

He moved slowly, letting Vicious see that he meant no harm, and tilted the hilt towards him. Vicious closed his eyes for a moment, as if to thank him, before reaching to grasp the hilt, with a tender reverence that surprised and touched Jet.

His eyes snapped open; empty once more.

In a flash, Vicious pulled the blade from its sheath. It glinted cruelly in the dying light of the sun, swinging in a ferocious arc before Jet’s reflexes kicked in. He thrust upward with his mechanical arm and blocked it, the blade lodging itself in the metal of his hand. They locked eyes for a moment. Vicious looked at him, desperate, and Jet suddenly realized why. He jerked away, the katana sliding free with a loud screech.

A hand grabbed at his shirt collar and yanked, hard. Jet stumbled back and almost fell into— _Spike? When did he get here?_ He looked angrier than Jet had ever seen him. Spike shoved Jet roughly to the side, and then moved with frightening speed to wrest the katana from Vicious’ hand. Vicious growled and surged upward, intent on getting it back, but Spike held it out of his reach, almost tauntingly. Vicious lunged again, rage in his eyes, but Spike dodged his sloppy attack with ease. They stared at each other for a long moment, breathing harshly.

Spike opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly the door burst open and several guards rushed in. They swarmed around Vicious, trying to grab hold of him. Vicious was like an animal, snarling and thrashing around wildly. Jet could have sworn he tried to bite one of the guards. _Christ, he’s gone feral._

Another guard stormed into the room and leveled the tranq gun Jet had been shown on his first day. _Drool-inducing,_ he thought dimly, as the guard took aim and fired a dart into Vicious’ thigh. His struggling subsided slowly, then all at once, as he fell unconscious. No drool, but definitely knocked out. It took several minutes to properly restrain him, soft leather cuffs around his wrists and ankles pinning him gently but firmly to the bed. Having finished, the guards turned to look at Spike, silently asking for his approval.

He nodded, frowning. The guards then left, as quickly as they had come in, and Spike turned to face Jet. “How’d he get this?” He gestured to the katana in his hand.

Jet grimaced. _At least he hasn’t said anything about the wall._ “I, ah, gave it to him.” Spike’s eyes narrowed, and Jet raised his hands defensively. “He asked me for it!”

“And you just handed it to him.” Spike shook his head, amazed.

“He was crying.”

Spike blinked. “Vicious?”

Jet shrugged. “Yeah, exactly. So I gave it to him, though I see now how that was a real misfire.”

Spike snorted. “You think?”

“I _get it_ , Spike. Look I didn’t think he’d be able to actually do anything with it, he’s a fucking coma patient! I though he just wanted to hold it. But then he started swinging, obviously. Almost got me with it.”

“You’re lucky, then” Spike murmured, arms crossed and now staring at Vicious.

“Lucky?” Jet retorted. “How’s that?”

“He _almost_ got you. If he was at full strength, you’d be dead. Vicious’ katana rarely misses.” He rubbed at his chest, where Jet knew the evidence of that fact must be carved into his skin.

Jet fixed Spike with a glare. “He wasn’t trying to hit _me_ , Spike.”

Spike glanced back at him, confused.

“He was aiming for himself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's new.
> 
> Spike's got a lot to think about next chapter, between Faye's visit and Jet's escape attempt. And now this thing with Vicious...


	13. Remembering to Live, Forgetting to Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike and Vicious do therapy. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! I struggled with this one, especially the dialogue. Tried to make it authentic as possible but also Vicious has about 12 lines in the whole show so most of this is just guesswork. Hopefully the tone still works for you guys, enjoy!

Spike opened the bedroom door just in time to see Vicious fall flat on his face.

It was late afternoon, and he’d just walked into the apartment, intent on talking to Vicious about what had happened with Jet. Or just talking to Vicious, period, now that the ventilator was out. He’d been planning to stop by for the past week, but things with the Dragon had gotten complicated and he had spent almost every waking moment at headquarters, holed up with Shin and the rest of his advisors, the select few lieutenants he trusted implicitly and understood the ins and outs of syndicate business.

Spike frowned. He didn’t like that term, advisors, it made him feel old. Still, they were good men, whip-smart and effective. Yet, despite relentless discussion, Spike was no closer to making a decision about their newest problem—the Dragon’s biggest supplier of Red Eye had just started selling directly to buyers, and they were spreading quickly. One of the head dealers had even reported a non-Dragon selling in Tharsis, same product and same quality. The lieutenants were split into two factions—negotiate or eliminate.

Spike didn’t like either option; making a deal with the supplier would see a big loss of exclusive territory, not to mention oversaturation of the market. The Dragon’s corner on top-tier Red Eye would dissolve as the superior product became baseline. On the other hand, to take out the suppliers, while it could be done, would stop production entirely. Shin had argued for this position, pointing out that even if the Dragon’s Red Eye dropped in quality, they still had a large chunk of the market.

Spike sighed and shook his head. _The only business I thought about on the Bebop was which criminal I was going to punch next. “Criminal,” like I’m not one myself. No wonder Jet’s so mad. He was never in the life._

He walked towards the bedroom, steeling himself for a potential confrontation. _Faye gets it though; she’s been scamming for a long time. Maybe that’s why she’ll actually speak to me. One criminal to another, I guess._

He turned the doorknob. _Maybe this’ll go okay, then. If anyone I know is a criminal, it’s-_

“Shit!”

Vicious had just landed on the floor with a sickening smack. Spike rushed in and knelt beside him.

“What the hell are you doing?” The restraints lay open on the bed, and Spike wasn’t surprised. Vicious didn’t do well with being locked up, whether for his own safety or otherwise.

Vicious growled beneath him, pounding a fist into the carpet. Spike stood and dragged Vicious up with him. Vicious growled again, fighting to detach himself from Spike’s grip. He tore away for a moment, standing on his own two legs before wavering dangerously. He listed to the side and half-collapsed against the wall.

Which, thankfully, was no longer a gaping hole. After Jet’s impromptu entrance through it, the wall had been fixed; a hasty patch-up job Spike had greenlit almost immediately. The thought of Jet and Vicious interacting kept giving him a nasty feeling, something like jealousy.

Whether he was jealous of Jet or Vicious, he couldn’t say.

He reached for Vicious again, hauling him upright and supporting his weight. They staggered back towards the bed and Vicious dropped into it, breathing heavily. He looked up at Spike for a long moment.

“What?” Spike asked.

“You stole my haircut.” His voice, cold and flat, was just like Spike remembered.

Spike laughed, surprised. He wasn’t wrong. “Speaking of, we have to do something about that.” He gestured to Vicious’ own hair, tangled and ratty. “You look like a wild animal.”

“The body is a reflection of the state of the beast within.”

Spike rubbed at his eyes, bemused. “God, I forgot you say shit like that.”

Vicious raised an eyebrow, challenging him. “I do. Mostly because it irritates the hell out of you.”

And just like that, they were in sync again, something clicking back into place. After years of rage and revenge, conflicts and catastrophes, they had landed back at the beginning. Two people who knew each other inside out, their similarities running in flawless parallel and their differences balancing in perfect equilibrium. Neither acknowledged this realignment, but they both felt it. Their friendship, twisted and complicated as ever, was starting again with a clean slate; their previous wrongs having grown so large and so deadly that they simply canceled out.

“How did you end up on the floor?” Spike asked. The conversation he’d been so worried about earlier flowed with ease now, buoyed by the rekindled connection he hadn’t expected or completely understood.

“I fell.”

“You know what I mean, wiseass.”

“I was trying to walk, but apparently my legs don’t work.”

“You’ve been in a coma for two years, Vicious. It’s gonna take some time to get back to normal.”

“Suddenly he’s a doctor.”

“No, but I talked to yours and that’s what they’ve been telling me.” Spike noticed Vicious shifting uncomfortably, fingers digging into the mattress.

“You in pain?” Vicious shook his head, and Spike sighed. _Always was a proud son of a bitch._ He hesitated. “I, uh, learned a few things—stretches—that are supposed to help with the recovery process. Stuff your doctor showed me how to do.”

Vicious’ eyes bored into him. Spike, self-conscious, continued. “Yeah, it’s really just a matter of moving your limbs around and working with the muscles. Pretty interesting, actually, how it all works.”

“You’ve done this with me before.” It wasn’t a question; whether some part of his subconscious remembered, or he was just amazed by the gross invasion of personal space, Vicious didn’t seem surprised.

Spike rubbed at the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah, a lot actually. I came by most nights and the doctors were more than happy to pawn it off.” He punched Vicious’ shoulder lightly. “You were a lot of work, as always.”

Vicious studied him with an unreadable expression. “You must have been lonely, to come here every night.”

_How does he know that?_

Spike elected not to respond, instead reaching out for Vicious’ leg. Vicious tensed immediately, and Spike remembered he hated being touched, even by close friends. Ever since they’d known each other, the only time someone really put hands on Vicious was in a fight. And then they would usually lose the hand, not to mention their lives. Spike and Julia, it seemed, were the exceptions, the only ones Vicious ever let get close.

But then again, Julia was dead, and Spike had almost died too, so maybe they weren’t so special after all.

Spike reached out again, slower, and took hold of Vicious’ leg firmly. Vicious was still rigid beneath him, but didn’t move.

“Relax,” Spike murmured. “This won’t work if you’re all locked up.” Vicious exhaled, trying but failing to follow Spike’s instruction.

“Like water,” Spike suggested. “Just like our katas. Be loose.” Vicious closed his eyes and breathed out again. Tension melted away, and his leg bent towards his chest. Spike nodded in approval. He worked slowly, bending and flexing the leg, just like the doctors had shown him. Vicious, for his part, let himself be manhandled, breathing deeply and trying to remain calm.

Spike grinned. “I bet this is hell for you.”

Vicious cracked an eye open. “You have no idea.”

There was a beat of silence, and Spike took a breath. _I have to ask._

“Why’d you try to kill yourself, Vicious?”

Vicious’ eyes opened slowly, and he stared at the ceiling. “Because I lost. After that fight, I should have been dead.” He paused, regarding Spike. “I was just finishing what you started.”

Spike said nothing for a moment. _How do I argue with that? Why do I **want** to argue with that?_

“I thought you were swinging for Jet. That’s why I was so mad.”

“So if I’d offed myself like I planned, you’d be fine.”

“Probably, yeah.” He paused. “Actually, no. I’m the only one that gets to kill you.”

“Funny, that’s what I’ve always said about you.”

Spike scoffed. “Soulmates, you and I.”

Vicious nodded, serious. “When you disappeared, Mao told me I lost the best second I’d ever have.”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “I think we both know I wasn’t one of your underlings, Vicious.”

Vicious smirked. “No, not like that. A second; it comes from the samurai. In the ancient times, when a warrior was bested, he would kill himself, to have an honorable death. The second was someone who helped him. They’d chop off his head at the end, delivering the fatal blow.”

“What, did you read a book about that or something?”

“Yes, actually.”

Spike twisted his mouth, considering. It was perfectly plausible, but on the other hand, Vicious could just be fucking with him. “Why didn’t they just shoot themselves?”

“You and your guns. No taste.”

“Yeah, well, they’re a lot less dramatic.”

Vicious narrowed his eyes. “You think I’m dramatic?”

Spike shrugged. “You fight with a sword and you say mystical crap about snakes and devils and shit. And you’ve tried to kill me _very_ dramatically at least twice.”

“I had my reasons,” Vicious muttered.

“And I had mine,” Spike replied.

Then they were quiet, the silence settling comfortably between them. Spike finished with one leg and reached for the other. Vicious tensed up yet again, but relaxed after a few moments.

“Where’s my katana?”

“At my place.”

“Surprised you didn’t have it melted down.”

“Well, it was either that or donating it to a museum.”

“No, you wouldn’t have done that.”

And he wouldn’t’ve. Julia had been with them the day Vicious got it.

Spike sighed. “Gotta remember Julia somehow, right? Even if it’s with the thing that made her life hell.” He meant to be angry, but his words carried no heat.

Vicious laughed darkly. “You and I both know Julia wasn’t as perfect as you make her out to be. Don’t try and turn her into a martyr. Especially not to me.”

Spike scowled and pressed down harder on Vicious’ leg. He was right, but Spike didn’t have to like it. Vicious grunted in discomfort, and Spike relented.

“You want to know something funny? Julia, when I think about her, it’s like I’m imagining someone from a dream. She doesn’t seem real.”

“That’s because you saw her as a dream. But she was only a person, flawed like the rest of us. You just couldn’t see it, or you didn’t want to.”

Spike hummed in agreement, thinking. There was a long pause before Vicious spoke again.

“Keep talking. Please.”

“Oh, sure, okay. Hmm, let’s see, well, actually you might have some good input for this…” Spike proceeded to tell Vicious about his problem with the Red Eye supplier and the decision he had yet to make.

“Easy,” Vicious replied. “Eliminate the supplier. Losing any part of the market damages profits, not to mention reputation.”

“Yeah, that’s what Shin said, but losing the supply-”

“Won’t be a problem if you can make it yourself.”

“We don’t have the equipment, the operating capital, the experience-”

“So seize the means of production.”

Spike blinked.

_Why didn’t I think of that?_

_Because you’re not Vicious._

“Huh, I guess, potentially, that could work. How did you come up with that and I didn’t?”

“You never learned about vertical integration.”

“Let me guess, you read that in a book too.”

“No, Mao taught me.”

 _Mao._ Spike wasn’t sure what to feel—anger, envy, or even grief, so he just let it pass. Having finished with the other leg, Spike let it drop back onto the mattress. “Feel better?” Vicious flexed his legs experimentally and nodded. Spike clapped his hands together; he’d already spent too much time here and he was late for yet another meeting. “Well, that’s time. Uh, I’d like to stop by again, soon, maybe we can talk more about this supplier business-”

“Yes,” Vicious blurted out.

Spike raised an eyebrow.

Vicious flushed, something Spike had only seen him do about twice in his life. He swallowed and spoke again.

“If you want to come again, I can’t exactly stop you.”

Spike grinned. “Guess I’ll be back then.” He headed for the door.

“Spike,” Vicious called out. Spike turned. “She’s dead. Don’t forget that.”

“I know. The problem is remembering I’m alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot of action this chapter, but definitely a conversation that needed to happen in terms of redefining their relationship. We'll just have to wait and see where they go from here!
> 
> Come back next time to catch up with Faye, and the big 180 she just did in the hair department.


	14. All That Is True, and Velvet, and You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faye and Spike share a dance, and it's not as bad as she imagined. Not that she's imagined it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New update, enjoy!

Faye threw yet another perfectly good dress to the ground, frustrated. She’d tried on over twenty different ones, but there seemed to be something wrong with each and every one of them. The last one _(red, God, anything but red)_ fell in a heap on her closet floor.

“Faye,” Lola called, “almost ready?”

“Not even close!”

Lola walked into the closet, eyes wide. “We have to leave in ten minutes; what is going on?”

Faye looked her up and down and sighed. “Of course, you look amazing.” And she did, a deep green gown matching in artful perfection with her glittering emerald bracelet. Her hair, red as ever, was swept into an extravagant updo that fell in curling ringlets over one shoulder.

Lola blushed. “You really think so?”

Faye rolled her eyes. “Shin’s gonna die. Now help me, I have nothing to wear.” Lola scoffed and gestured at the pile of dresses littering the carpet. Faye threw up her hands. “Okay, I have a lot, but I hate all of it!”

“It’s because you changed your hair, everything seems different,” Lola mused. “I bet it still looks great; you just think it looks weird.”

She wasn’t wrong. Two days after that drunken night at Spike’s, Faye had booked an appointment at her salon, trading her usual bleaching for a dye job and a serious chop, right back to her old cut. Seeing herself in that photo of Julia made her feel things she never wanted to feel again, especially where Spike was concerned.

It was nice, having her old hair back, but definitely strange. Which explained the fashion crisis. Lola was rummaging through the closet, neck deep, when she pulled a hanger off the rack.

“How about this?”

It was a dress Faye hadn’t worn before, but had been gifted, in hindsight, creepily, by some appreciative Fantaisie patron. Black velvet and deliciously tight—too fancy for everyday wear, but perfect for tonight. Not to mention it went with any hair color, blonde or otherwise.

“I forgot I had that, actually.”

“Wear it. Obviously, it’ll look fantastic.” Lola handed her the dress, and she stepped into it hurriedly. _Thank God my hair is short again._ She wouldn’t have time to style it, at this rate. The dress hit just above her knee, with an open back and a plunging neckline that made her feel flawless.

Lola always knew how to make her feel better; it was uncanny. Lola was her best friend, honestly. There was no reason to deny it at this point. Her life had become something she’d never experienced before, or at least not that she could remember. It was stable, routine.

And she loved it.

 _Belonging,_ she’d once said, _is the best thing there is._ And damn if Lola didn’t make her feel like she belonged. She still didn’t quite understand it; this lovely girl who thought the sun shone in every corner of the universe, and spread her own warmth wherever she went, giving all her love to Faye, a suspicious, broke-down cynic with not a good word to say about anyone. But somehow, they worked; Lola’s infinite light filling the cracks of Faye’s aching heart.

Lola snapped her fingers in Faye’s direction. “Valentine! Haul ass!” Faye waved her off, but sped up nonetheless. Tonight, she could not afford to be late.

Spike’s meeting, the one on the night she’d slapped him senseless, had gone amazingly well, better than either of them had expected. That guy had stayed in contact, and Spike had leveraged his position to get in touch with some even more well-connected people. Faye didn’t know many details, only what Lola would hear, filtered down from Shin. He told her mostly everything, now that Spike’s big secret was out.

With Spike running the show, Faye never worried about getting axed by some syndicate thug with orders from a higher-up. _Perks of knowing the boss._ She felt a little angry at first, knowing that he’d been the one to clear her debt and promote her, but the feeling passed. It was hard to stay mad when she had a walk-in closet and more woolongs than she’d ever hoped to see in her life.

And sometimes, a part of her would think, _maybe it means something more._

But it was only a small part of her, and one she could silence quite easily. Like right now, as she and Lola rushed down to the lobby and into their hired car, trying to dodge the rain that fell in pelting sheets from the night sky.

Shin was already sitting inside, and he whistled as Lola plopped down next to him. “You look…incredible.”

Lola giggled and gave him a kiss. “Not so bad yourself.”

Faye resisted the urge to vomit. They were too cute sometimes. The car started moving and Faye stared out the window as the city flew by.

She figured Spike must already be there, no doubt in the middle of the action. Though the thought of him, dressed up in a tux and trying to win over some of the snobbiest, richest people in Tharsis, made her laugh. This was Spike Spiegel, the man who poured beer in his cereal and fixed every mechanical malfunction by giving it a good kick. A private party thrown by the governor’s wife did not seem like a place he’d fit in. And yet, Spike, along with Faye, had been invited, Faye because of her social connections, Spike because of his business ones. Shin and Lola were going as their plus ones, respectively, because Shin was there to help Spike and Lola was never one to turn down an excuse to get dressed up.

 _Shin must be nervous._ He seemed twitchy. That was understandable, seeing as he and Spike were determined to land one of the governor’s close friends, a man with considerable property ownership in Tharsis. Faye knew a little bit about tonight; they were hoping to make contact, start an open communication, in the hopes of forming a potential business relationship. She wasn’t sure if they were planning any shady deals, but she did know that they’d done things like this in the past that had ended with money surreptitiously changing hands. Shin must have been worrying about getting an introduction; something that, the higher up the ladder you went, was harder and harder to do.

But when they got to the party, elegant and exquisite on the top floor of a glass-paneled high-rise, it seemed that there was no need to worry. The trio entered the room, and Faye spotted Spike almost immediately, chatting with unaffected ease to the very person they were trying to meet. She tapped Shin’s shoulder and pointed at the two. Shin laughed. “How about that? He’s got people skills after all.” They made their way over to Spike, who looked up as they approached.

If he noticed the difference in Faye’s hair, he didn’t show it.

“Mr. Sato,” he said, gesturing, “let me introduce you to my associate, Shin.”

Sato smiled, shaking Shin’s proffered hand warmly. “And who are these lovely ladies?”

Faye stepped forward. “I’m Faye, and this is Lola.”

“Ah, yes, you run that wonderful club over in the Aqueduct! Lovely place, just a perfectly elegant atmosphere. The wife and I try to visit when we can, which sadly, never seems to be often enough.”

“Oh, well, we’ll just have to try and fix that.”

The group chatted aimlessly for a few minutes, Faye inwardly cringing at the pleasantries and boring anecdotes that seemed to make up the old man’s entire vocabulary. Before long, an older woman sidled up to them and handed Sato a glass, who took it enthusiastically.

“Thank you, my dear, absolute lifesaver, this one! Why, one time I found myself-”

Spike, standing just behind Faye, bent down to whisper in her ear. “ _The wife_ , I presume.” Faye snorted; his impression was dead-on. Sato and the woman in question turned towards them, and Faye hastily coughed.

“Oh, you poor thing, sounds like you need something to drink,” the still-nameless wife said. She gestured vigorously toward the bar on the other side of the room, and then at Spike, who had to step back to avoid her waving hand. “I’m sure this nice young man will be happy to accompany you, like a true gentleman!”

Faye stifled another snort. Spike inclined his head to Sato and his wife before tossing a glance at Faye and heading toward the bar. She followed closely behind.

“Gonna need a drink, after that conversation,” he muttered.

“That bad?” she asked. Damn, she’d hoped he’d been able to maybe talk a little business before they’d arrived.

“Well actually, it went great, I just can’t stand the guy. But I’ve got a meeting set with him for next week.”

“Oh, Spike, that’s amazing!” She hurried forward to fall into step with him. “So I guess we’re done? Should we just go home?”

He shook his head. “No, not yet. Sato still thinks I’m just a businessman, and I’d like to keep it that way, for now. I don’t know if I’m just being paranoid, but I’d like to stick around for a bit and act normal, just to be safe.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” she replied. A lot of this networking stuff was about playing the part, and playing it well.

They reached the bar and the bartender looked at them expectantly. Spike ordered a martini for her, and a scotch for himself.

She cocked an eyebrow. “Bold you to order for me, _nice young man._ ”

Spike groaned and rubbed his eyes. “Not so young anymore, believe me.” They stood in silence for a few moments, watching the bartender.

“How old are you, anyway?” she wondered casually. “Late twenties? I never could tell.”

“Turned 30 last month.”

The bartender plunked their drinks down in front of them before moving to serve another guest at the end of the bar. Faye took a sip of her martini before something clicked and she glared at Spike accusingly.

“You never told me it was your birthday.”

“What? When?” he asked, confused.

“That day you gave back my lighter. You didn’t tell me it was your birthday.”

“Yeah, well, you never asked.” He took a deep drink. “Besides, I didn’t think you cared about that kind of thing.”

His words stung for some reason, but she tried to rally.

“30, huh? That’s like, older than Jet.”

Spike’s mouth twisted. “Not as old as you, though.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know I’m technically younger than you!”

“Technically, you’re older.”

She huffed and drank her martini. Which, of course, was amazing, and everything she’d ever wanted in a drink. How did he always know just how to push her buttons, both good and bad? She didn’t even know when his birthday was.

“Well, next time, tell me.” He looked at her questioningly. “When you turn 31.” He looked down at his drink, seemingly fascinated with the glass. But she had seen his eyes soften, and that made her smile.

There was a swell of noise around them, as the quiet piano music that had been playing gave way to something louder and jazzier, meant for dancing. People around the bar flocked towards the dancefloor in the middle of the room, along with everyone else. Faye spotted Sato elbowing Shin in the ribs, who smiled good-naturedly before taking Lola’s hand and leading her onto the floor. She smirked when she noticed Shin positioned them far, far away from Sato and his wife, already dancing and knocking into the other couples around them.

Faye glanced at Spike, but he was looking out at the crowd. They stood at the bar in silence, sipping their drinks, while the song played and Faye was painfully aware that they were the only ones, other than the bartender, not dancing. The first song faded out and a new one started, a bit slower, sultry. Just the kind she liked. She looked at Spike again.

He looked back.

_Don’t make it weird!_

“Are you going to ask me to dance or not?”

_Oops._

Spike blinked. “Did you want to?” He toyed with the rim of his glass, refusing to meet her eye.

“Well, not if you don’t. It’s just that everyone else in a five-mile radius, including the man you’re trying to buy, is dancing right now, so it’d seem weird if we didn’t. Your call though,” she said sarcastically.

He hesitated. “It’s just, uh, I- I don’t know how.”

Faye stared at him for a moment.

_Spike Spiegel is **embarrassed.**_

That was certainly something she’d never seen before; cool and casual seemed to be his default, even in the middle of a heated argument. It had always infuriated her, the way he could be so detached. Seeing him fidget like this was truly something else, and she was tempted to tease the ever-loving shit out of him for it.

But then she remembered the disastrous visit to his apartment, and how disarmingly kind he’d been about the whole broken picture frame thing. So she just looped her arm through his and pulled him towards the dancefloor, leaving their drinks at the bar.

“See, everyone says that, but it’s really just a matter of following the rhythm. You don’t even have to move your feet, if you don’t want to.” Instinctively, she wove her fingers through Spike’s and levered his other hand to rest at her shoulders, placing her own against his back. The memory, hazy and dim, of dancing like this when she was younger, still swam within her, directing her body to sway in time with the music.

Spike followed, awkwardly at first, but then with ease; he’d always been a fast learner. She inhaled sharply as he pulled her closer, his hand dropping from in between her shoulders to the small of her back. He raised an eyebrow. “That’s how everyone else is doing it.”

She exhaled, nodding curtly. They swayed in silence for a few moments, even throwing in a basic twirl or two. Faye was surprised at how well they read each other’s movements. “See,” she teased, “Dancing isn’t so hard.”

He hummed in agreement and stepped even closer, her head coming to rest against his shoulder. Part of her wanted to question the gesture, but she let it be. She felt the touch of his fingers, feather-light, on her hair.

“I like it better this way,” he murmured, and she felt the vibrations of his voice rumble through his chest.

_Does he mean my hair?_

_Or how we’re dancing?_

Both thoughts flooded her with an inexplicable happiness. She sighed and closed her eyes, allowing herself to feel the rhythm of the music and the stillness of the night. And most of all, Spike, solid and warm and real _._ Someone she could grab onto, whose heart was beating in time with her own.

The song played on, and on, and Faye was grateful. It wasn’t often she had an excuse to just _be_. Spike, too, seemed to be in no rush for it to end. She felt him wrap his arms around her more tightly, his head coming to rest atop her own. The long strands of his hair tickled at her forehead, and she bit back a smile. It should have been strange, the two of them, both quieter and closer than they’d ever been in one another’s presence.

But it was wonderful.

Faye felt like something had shifted. Now, she was seeing herself differently, seeing _Spike_ differently. She wanted to say something to him, only she didn’t know what. She tilted her head up to look at him, and he stared back at her.

“Are you going to slap me again?” he whispered.

She smiled. “No, no. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“I can’t think of what I was going to say.”

Those two-tone eyes were making her feel funny again, but in an entirely different way than they had before. She felt her face grow warm when she realized just how close his lips were to hers. Just a little push, and she could rise up and capture them with her own. She blinked, hard, trying to focus.

Spike was still gazing at her, and even for all the woolongs in the world, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

She almost gasped when he dipped his head down towards hers. It was a small thing, almost imperceptible, but he had done it. She shivered, knowing what was coming.

“Faye…” he breathed, and she closed her eyes.

There was an eruption of noise from the other side of the room. The music cut, and everyone looked towards the source of the commotion, Spike included. Faye bit her lip in equal parts frustration and disappointment, but that soon turned to anger when she saw Lola sobbing by windows. Shin was next to her, grinning like a madman.

 _Did they just break up?_ The thought of anyone hurting Lola, and so publicly, made her blood boil. Spike was shaking his head.

“He actually did it, the bastard.” He glanced down at her, smiling. “Come on, we should probably congratulate them.”

_On what, breaking up?_

Spike pulled her across the dancefloor, until they came to a halt in front of the recently dissolved couple. It was then that Faye realized Lola was in fact crying, but she was also beaming, blinding everyone with her five-hundred-watt smile. One that perfectly matched the shiny new ring on her finger.

“He proposed!” Lola half screamed, rushing towards Faye and squeezing her in a hug. Faye lifted an arm and squeezed back.

“I’m so happy for you.” She was surprised to find tears pricking at her eyes.

Lola noticed when she pulled away and started crying all over again. “Aw, Faye, don’t cry! I don’t want to lose my roommate either!”

Faye laughed. “No, these are happy tears, I promise. Plus, you’ve basically been living with Shin for the past year anyway; I can’t remember the last time you actually slept in your own bed.”

Lola blushed and grinned, tears still flowing but under control. Faye wondered how Spike was dealing; he usually avoided crying women at all costs. Crying anything, really. But he was busy shaking Shin’s hand, muttering something into his ear that was either a congratulations or the pronouncement of a death sentence. She’d never heard Spike talk about marriage before, but based on his general life philosophy, she doubted he was a fan.

Shin turned from Spike to wrap his arms around Lola, both of them smiling like love-sick fools. _Which I guess they technically are._ Lola suddenly giggled, and Shin whispered something to her. They were both looking at Spike and Faye, who looked at each other, confused. Then they looked down.

They were still holding hands.

Faye let go like she’d been burned, rolling her eyes at Lola’s suggestive wink. Spike cleared his throat awkwardly and refused to acknowledge the smugness radiating off of Shin in waves.

They both stepped apart, but Faye could have sworn she saw Spike’s hand twitch. Like he wanted to chase after hers, like he missed how it entwined with his.

Suddenly, they were swarmed by other guests, and someone shoved a glass of champagne into Faye’s hand. Lola and Shin got lost in a flurry of toasts and congratulations, and Faye pushed through the crowd to the edge of the room, where the two had been standing earlier. _He couldn’t have picked a better spot to propose._ The windows were seamless panes of glass; it felt like you could fall right into the city below, its lights glowing with a breathtaking splendor. _The city that brought them together. And kept them together._ She sighed and raised a silent toast of her own, about to drink to the happy couple.

“It’s bad luck to toast alone, you know.” Spike had materialized beside her, staring out into the night.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that.” She paused, before turning and raising her glass towards his. “To the happy couple, and to the future.”

He looked back at her. His eyes, _(oh, his eyes)_ flickered with something. Something almost like hope.

“To what may be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally hitting some of that burn from our slow burn tag! Although I can promise you it's still gonna be pretty slow, oops.
> 
> If anyone's interested, the song I imagined them dancing to is "Farewell Blues" from the Bebop soundtrack. Everything on there is a masterpiece of music and I highly recommend listening to it if for some reason you haven't.
> 
> Next chapter, back to Jet. Spike's got a proposition for him, but will Jet like what he hears?


	15. The Friend of My Friend Is My Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jet hears the truth. More than he's heard before, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New update! Just wanted to say thank you again to everyone following the story and it makes me so happy that you guys are enjoying it! Also the comments you all have written are so lovely and it always makes me smile when I see them in my inbox. 
> 
> I'm pretty hype for the next couple chapters, I finally built up an outline and let me tell you I'm VERY excited to take the plot in some hopefully surprising directions you guys will like. But on to this chapter!

Spike had pulled some shit over the past few weeks, but this took the cake.

Jet punched angrily at the Bebop nav system, setting a course for Earth. It was strange to be back. Normally it would feel good, but under the current circumstances, Jet was less than pleased.

Since the wall incident, Jet hadn’t been given so much as the time of day for two weeks. The wall had been fixed and reinforced in the span of one afternoon. Any contact he would have had with Vicious was now impossible, because the wall was too thick to hear anything clearly.

Not that he really wanted to talk with Vicious anyway; after that botched suicide attempt, Jet was starting to rethink his claim to Spike about them becoming the best of friends. He’d thought before that every monster was once a man. _But there’s always an exception to the rule._

In Jet’s mind, there’d only ever been two teams when it came to Spike’s mysterious past, Spike on one side, Vicious on the other. He’d been a part of Spike’s crew for as long as they’d known one another, but given his recent manipulation, betrayal, and imprisonment, he’d rethought that position.

But all it took was a glimpse of the other side to know that aligning himself with Vicious was far worse than any disloyalty Spike could throw his way. The little he’d heard about Vicious, only cryptic remarks from Spike and one brief conversation with Faye after her kidnapping, had given Jet the sense he was more animal than man, driven by baser instincts and more violent delights. That had waned a bit, after his fallout with Spike, and Jet let himself believe that maybe Vicious wasn’t the man Spike had made him out to be. _Fooled by a fucking wall._

Any doubts Jet had been having were swept away as soon as Vicious swung that blade. He hadn’t even been aiming for Jet, but he was so brutal with his movements that Jet, a man whose life was neutralizing violence, could tell that everything he’d heard before was true.

And what came after—God, Jet had never seen anything like it. There was a raw quality to his rage, something barbaric and hateful. It made Jet’s stomach turn.

He’d been thinking about it for days after, wondering how Spike, so constant, could have been friends, brothers even, with someone so volatile. _Maybe that was their strength. Their differences._

In his own friendship with Spike, they were so similar sometimes—obsessive, independent, and damned stubborn. _And maybe that was our weakness._ It was easy to see there’d been a breakdown somewhere along the line, sometime before Spike’s pseudo-resurrection. The worst part was, in those two long years, Spike had let Jet think he was dead. He’d let him suffer and he let them fall apart, and that made Jet’s heart hurt more than any open-faced betrayal. He wanted them to come back from this—he’d meant what he said to Spike all those weeks ago, about being his best friend—but it was hard to know where to begin.

 _But the tree,_ Jet thought, _is a good start._ When Spike had brought it, Jet was quick to dismiss the gesture as trite and really, just sucking up, but now the little bonsai had taken over his entire life. Spike had known just what he needed in this confined space; something to nurture, that he could see grow and flourish from the work of his own hands. Never mind that Spike was the one who locked him in here; Jet was beginning to realize that he would have done the same, if the roles had been reversed. _Hell, I should’ve chained his ass to the Bebop deck on that day he went to die._

Yeah, the tree had been a thoughtful gesture, and, Jet assumed, a call for help. Spike had seemed shaky even when they were on good terms, and Jet could only imagine how he was handling things now, between Jet hating him and Vicious trying to kill himself and anyone else within spitting distance.

So, when Spike came to see him a week after the wall incident, Jet was more receptive than before. Spike had tried, in his stilted, apathetic way, to reconcile, and Jet was ready to reciprocate. He looked on with what he hoped was a neutral expression as Spike came in and sat across from him at the kitchen table.

“Look, Jet, first I just want to say that I’m sorry you’ve been stuck in here for so long. I’ve been handling a lot of other stuff, but I promise you’re getting out of here today.”

Jet sat up straighter. “Really? Thought I was a liability or something, seeing how I’m an undercover cop and all.”

Spike grimaced. “Yeah, uh, about that. You’re getting out of here but it’s only because I need your help with something. We’ll talk about the whole cop thing later.”

“Well, the last time I agreed to help you it ended with me getting pistol-whipped and thrown into this apartment, so, forgive me if I’m a little suspicious.”

“You don’t have to help me, Jet, you can stay here,” Spike said. “It’s your call.”

_Fucking hate it when he says that._

“Not much of a choice, is it,” Jet grumbled. Spike spread his hands apologetically. “Okay, okay, I’m listening.”

“You still have the Bebop?”

Jet snorted. “Of course.”

“I need it.”

“What for?”

“I need to get to Earth, and I need to be under the radar. Figured the Bebop would be a safe bet; it hasn’t been picked up by any satellites in the past year. Plus no one would figure the Head of the Dragon is flying around in some piece of shit junker.”

“Hey!” Jet almost slammed his fist on the table, but Spike was looking at him mischievously, and he realized that last bit had been a joke. It really wasn’t that funny, but Jet started to laugh. And goddamn, it felt so good to laugh that he laughed some more. Spike even cracked a smile.

Jet wiped his eyes and sighed, feeling something like happiness for the first time in a long time. “Okay, Spike-o, why not? I’m gonna go crazy just staring at these walls anyway. It’s in a storage hangar but I should be able to get in no problem.”

Spike clapped a hand on his shoulder and stood. “Knew I could count on you, pal. Grab your tree then, we’re getting out of here.”

And they did. Jet almost thought it was too good to be true, stepping out that hellhole of an apartment and riding down to the lobby. Hell, even being outside seemed surreal. Spike must have noticed him taking deep breaths of fresh air, because when they were settled in a car and heading towards the hangar, Spike turned in the driver’s seat to look at Jet.

“I, uh- I’m sorry. Seriously.”

Jet would’ve fallen out of his seat if he wasn’t buckled in. Spike rarely apologized, and almost never for big things. He was the type to walk away from a fight until the other person forgot why they were mad in the first place. Saying sorry now, and meaning it, that was a big deal, at least to Jet.

So when they got to the hangar and were standing, finally, in the hold of the Bebop, Jet was feeling pretty great. He’d gotten his freedom, his ship, and, most importantly, his friend back. Sure, there were some nagging doubts at the back of his mind, mainly _I’m a cop_ and _he’s the head of a crime syndicate,_ but he was content to let them go for now. Later, he’d sort it all out, but now was the time to be in the moment. And what a great moment it was. Jet closed his eyes and breathed deep, taking it all in.

_BEEP._

Jet startled. “Sorry,” Spike said, grabbing his beeper and silencing it. “Just coordinating with Shin. He’s dropping something off and then we can get out of here.”

Jet nodded. “I’m gonna walk around, make sure everything’s in working order.”

The Bebop was just as he left it, if only a little dustier. That, and his bonsai trees were dead beyond repair. He’d expected that, but it still hurt to see. He put Spike’s tree down on the worktable, a spot of green among a sea of brown. He’d have to start over, but starting over with a gift from Spike seemed like the right move. _I guess you could call it a metaphor, or something._

He continued on, walking from room to room. It gave Jet a feeling of peace. He was home. _His_ home, one that no one had ever or could ever take away. He was the captain of the ship, and it was his roof, his rules.

Which is why when he saw the “something” Shin had dropped off, he just about shit a brick.

“What the hell is he doing on my ship?!” Jet snarled, charging back down into the hold.

Vicious was standing next to Spike, looking around the Bebop with a critical eye. Well, standing was a strong word. Spike was doing most of the work, supporting Vicious at the waist and trying to get him to sit on the couch. Jet’s couch. Where, as a rule, he didn’t allow villainous maniacs to sit.

Spike jumped into action, closing the distance between them and gripping Jet by the shoulders. “Jet, calm down. He’s fine. It’s fine.”

“It doesn’t look fucking fine!”

“Trust me, he’s not going to do anything, okay? I need him; that’s why he’s here.”

Vicious, without Spike propping him up, had started to stagger a bit. It was almost sad, this supposedly skillful assassin having trouble even staying upright, but Jet found he didn’t really care. Apparently Spike did, because he rushed back over to Vicious and grabbed him before he could fall. “Hey, easy,” he said. “Let’s get you horizontal.”

Jet rolled his eyes. _I fell for it again. Spike, always hiding something._ Well, if Spike wanted to play dirty, he could too. He crossed his arms. “I’m not letting him sit on the couch. It’s my ship and I don’t want him on my beds either.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Well, I still have my room, right?” Jet debated, then nodded. “Great. Come on, Vicious, we’ll put you down in there.” Vicious didn’t say anything; only grunted in response like a wild animal. _Because only actual humans are capable of using words to communicate. Seriously, what the hell is Spike thinking?_ The two of them stumbled off towards the sleeping quarters and Jet stomped to the control room.

He’d been in there for the better part of an hour, entering and reentering the Earth coordinates, when Spike stuck his head in the doorway.

“Just checking to see if you needed any help.”

“It’s my own damn ship, Spike, I think I know how to fly it.”

Spike nodded and fully entered the room, letting an awkward silence fill the air. Clearly, he was trying to get things back on track between them. Jet almost felt bad for snapping, but he had a few more things to say first.

“Speaking of, as the captain of this ship I feel like I have the right to throw that snake out of the airlock and let space do the rest.”

Spike sighed and slouched against the wall. “Why do you hate him so much?”

“Because you don’t seem to be able to!” Jet shouted. He took a breath and lowered his voice. “You just gave him a pass, after everything he’s done; he took your woman, your mentor, hell, he even tried to take your _life,_ more than once. I don’t get it; you let him right back in. He’s a monster, Spike. Why can’t you see that? A monster that has no place among men, especially not good men like you.”

“Jet…” Spike moved to sit next to him. “I never told you much about my past. And that was on purpose. I didn’t want to think about it, but also, I didn’t want you to think I was a terrible person.” Jet opened his mouth to speak, but Spike waved him off. “See, the thing is, _I_ took _his_ woman. Julia, she was with him. He’d mentioned her, once or twice, but I never thought anything of it.

“But then I met her and—God, I swear, I didn’t know what beautiful meant until then. I just, I couldn’t stay away from her, she was like some magnetic force. And the craziest thing of all was that she couldn’t stay away from me either.” He shook his head, almost in disbelief. “What she ever saw in me, I don’t know. But it was something, enough to make her want to cross the most dangerous man we knew. But she and I, we liked danger, it made us feel alive. Still does, I guess.”

Jet was staring at Spike, openmouthed. His sacred Julia, another man’s woman. Spike went on.

“Vicious caught us, one day, like we knew he eventually would. The worst part was that he didn’t even react. He just stared at us, and then he left. Julia was upset; she was worried he was going to do something, but all I remember was this sinking feeling, ice cold, because I knew I’d just lost my best friend. And yeah, there were other things at play, but that betrayal, what I did, it was the final nail in the coffin. You can’t come back from something like that, and no matter how cold he was after, no matter how cruel, I still couldn’t shake knowing that I was the one who broke everything.” He looked down at his hands, studying the lines on his palms.

“When he killed Mao, and did all of that to Julia, and tried to kill me, yeah, I was mad at him, but I was also mad at myself. Because I knew that the rage he felt, the violence fueled by betrayal, I knew it was my fault. I had created it.” He raised his eyes to meet Jet’s and they were full of misery.

“Look Jet, I know you hate him, and sometimes I think I still hate him too. But you have to realize something about me. You’ve always thought I was a hero, like you, saving the universe and putting away scumbags. And my time on the Bebop, yeah, that was how it felt, and what I wanted to be. But I’m not a hero, not really.”

He blinked rapidly and ducked his head. It wasn’t until Spike started swiping at his eyes that Jet realized he was crying.

“I might not be a monster, but I’m not a good man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm, this could get interesting. What's up with Spike's need to go to Earth? Is it business or pleasure? And why'd he have to bring Vicious? And what the hell is Faye gonna think about all this? Tune in next chapter to find out!
> 
> Oh man, this chapter was a bitch to write. I always find the ones with Jet are tougher both in terms of coming up with a plot and also writing from his perspective. Idk why, but I think it's just harder for me to relate to him out of all of them. Then again, I think I might relate to Spike a little TOO much.


	16. Home Stretch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike's been keeping secrets. There's a bit of a reckoning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update for you guys today! Back to back chapters because this one literally possessed my brain and wouldn't let me rest until I wrote it all down. I like this one a lot, we're pulling the curtain back just a liiiittle bit more each time we catch up with Spike.

Spike put his face in his hands, trying to hide the sudden tears that overwhelmed him. He hadn’t cried in ages, and it was a beyond bizarre thing to happen now, with Jet, of all people. He figured it was just all those tamped-down emotions finally catching up to him; an onslaught of feelings that got choked up in his throat and had no choice but to escape through his eyes.

He cleared his throat, trying to gather himself. He hadn’t felt anything for so long, and he didn’t want to start now. Not when he was finally back on track with the Dragon, Vicious, and Faye. Jet, well, he would take a while to come around, but he would just have to make peace with the fact that everyone in his close circle of friends was a piece of shit and had been for a while now.

It was exhausting, honestly, being held to Jet’s high standards. It was something Spike had never wanted or asked for, and now Jet was disappointed because he refused to prove himself. Well, hopefully this little talk had set him straight.

Spike and Jet, similar on the surface, were wildly different at the core. It was insane, how perfectly inverted their relationship was compared to him and Vicious, who were different to the naked eye but fundamentally bonded by deep cynicism and a debilitating problem with communication that resulted in them resorting to violence at every turn.

That’s why Vicious was currently passed out on Spike’s bed, dead to the world for probably the fourth time that day. Spike had been talking with him almost every night, planning on how to best execute their plan to take out the Red Eye supplier. It really was _their_ plan at this point, considering how much Vicious had helped with the process—a lot more than Spike’s lieutenants had, anyway.

Speaking of, Spike was relieved the trip with Shin went okay. Vicious was still in one piece, at least. Shin hadn’t said much during the drop off, clearly unhappy with the situation but following orders, loyal as ever. Spike resisted the urge to remind him his own men were the ones who kept Vicious alive in the first place and left the decision up to Spike.

Vicious hadn’t said anything about Lin’s death, but Spike was willing to bet there was more to the story. That guy, Gren, before he flew off to Titan, had really set Spike’s mind whirling. With what he said about Julia, of course, but also with what he didn’t say. Things about Vicious, and the War on Titan, something Vicious had never talked to Spike about. Granted, he caught Spike and Julia not long after he’d come home, so it was fair to say he probably wasn’t keen to confide in the guy who’d just stabbed him in the back. He wasn’t big on sharing to begin with.

Still, Spike had brought him aboard the Bebop with the childish hope this mission would open him up again. The two of them had discussed it for weeks, how only a small team should take the Red Eye plant—anything larger and the suppliers would know exactly what they were up to. That’s why he needed the Bebop as well; it was a good cover and had never been involved with Dragon business. Hopefully, the suppliers would think they were just some junkies looking to score directly from the source.

True, he could’ve commissioned any old ship, but, despite what most people thought, Spike Spiegel had a sentimental streak. Besides, he had to try and fix things with Jet, and this was the only place he knew where to start. Although bringing Vicious along might have set them even further back than they were before.

Spike didn’t regret it though; bringing Vicious was necessary. Practically, Spike wanted someone watching his back that could read his movements as well as he could read theirs. He would be going into this raid without backup, and he couldn’t risk someone like Jet letting him catch a bullet out of spite. Shin too, though trustworthy, hadn’t fought alongside Spike before, and a mission this dangerous was hardly the time to start.

Vicious was the only logical choice. Even though he was still recovering, Spike had let him practice with his katana a few times (under strict supervision, of course), and he was just as capable as ever to cut down more than a few bodies. Not to mention his aim with a gun, though not as good as Spike’s, was still deadly accurate.

The standing up for a while, yeah, that was an issue, but one Spike hoped to work out before they got to Earth. Spike knew Vicious was just as eager as he was for him to get back to normal, and when Vicious put his mind to something, it almost always happened. So, he wasn’t really worried, just impatient.

Which is why he didn’t totally understand why he was crying right now. Everything had been going smoothly; Jet’s flare ups had ceased to faze Spike a long, long time ago, so it wasn’t that. Even telling him the truth about Julia wasn’t sad, because he’d made peace with that a long, long time ago as well.

The part about not being a good man, well, he’d known that practically since birth.

Yet the tears fell, maddingly, bewilderingly, and unceasingly. He took a deep breath; if he wasn’t careful, he thought he might start hyperventilating. _What the fuck is happening to me?_

Jet half rose out of his seat and stretched a tentative hand towards Spike. “You okay, kid?”

Well, that just made him cry harder, his half-sobs embarrassingly loud in the silence of the control room. He pressed a hand over his face, wishing Jet would come closer but also wishing he would leave right this second. Jet opted for the former, crouching down beside him. Spike knew he was freaking him out. Hell, he was freaking himself out. This was practically a psychotic break and all he could think about was how this chair made his back hurt. _Because you’re getting fucking old._ He really was hyperventilating at this point, hands sliding upwards to get tangled in his hair. _I must look insane right now._

“Spike…” Jet’s voice floated through the haze, loud and worried. “Spike, you have to breathe. Can you hear me? Gotta breathe.”

Spike nodded, breath scrabbling out of his chest as he willed himself to calm down. But it wasn’t working; the tears were still streaming, and the panicky feeling was still there. Most of his brain though, the parts that weren’t panicking, observed the situation with bemused rationale. There was no logical reason this was happening, and no logical reason he couldn’t stop.

That old apathy switch must have flipped off, and it was terrifying.

Jet was still talking in a low murmur, no doubt trying to calm him down, but Spike’s ears were starting to ring and anything he said got lost in transit.

Suddenly, something cut through the noise and the fog. Another voice, loud, impatient, and _furious._

“Tried to leave without me, huh? Think again, lunkhead!”

_What the shit?_

And then Faye was there, in the doorframe, all rage and no regret. _How did she even get here?_

“Shin told me where you were,” she said, in response to his silent question. “And honestly, it’s fine if you want to fuck off to wherever; I don’t own you. But what _really_ got me was that Shin said you had a nice little crew going with you.”

Spike closed his eyes. Seems Shin had gotten his little revenge after all. He should’ve known there would be a catch. Faye stepped fully into the room, practically vibrating. He’d seen her like this many times before, all that anger rolling off in waves; her body unable to contain it.

“ _This_ one-” she said and jabbed a finger at Jet, who held his hands up defensively.

“Hey, I’ve been locked up for the past month. And I got tricked into this.”

Faye snorted. “Yeah, well, it wouldn’t be the first time. I guess you knew about his other little secret though.” Jet cocked his head.

“Fucking _Vicious!_ The psycho that kidnapped me and held me hostage! Not to mention he also killed Spike, sort of, and I assume Julia, and betrayed Gren, and- honestly, need I go on?” She stood still, chest heaving in time with Spike’s own.

“Well?” she yelled, hands on her hips. “Care to explain?”

No, he didn’t. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t, because when he opened his mouth, no words came out. Only hitching breaths and stuttered, unintelligible sounds. It was then that Faye finally noticed he was smack in the middle of a breakdown.

“Hey, uh, are you okay?” She walked over towards him and Jet cautiously. “What’s- what’s happening?” Spike cringed at the discomfort in her voice. Having Jet see him like this was bad enough, but adding Faye to the mix was just downright cruel.

Jet saved him from trying to explain. “We’re not really sure, are we, bud? But we’re working on taking some deep breaths, yeah?” Jet was talking to him like he was a five-year-old, and it was just making everything worse.

He tried again to speak, because he could tell Jet was about to go off the deep end, worrying like he always did. Well, maybe he should be concerned, because Spike didn’t feel like he was going to calm down anytime soon.

Faye hovered near him, unsure of what to do. Spike attempted to form words, but all that came out was a strangled whine. He turned bright red and curled his legs up so he could bury his face in his knees.

This was mortifying.

Maybe if he just stayed in this little dark hole they would go away and let him figure this shit out in peace. He kept his head down and tried to focus on breathing. _In, out, in, out_. It worked, marginally, the tears still flowing but his chest rising and falling in some semblance of normalcy. He could feel Jet and Faye exchanging glances over his head, no doubt absolutely baffled over what was happening. Hell, he was just as confused as they were.

Jet cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well, Spike-o, uh, we’ll give you some space. I’ll be down in the hold, okay? If you wanna talk about it. Or even if you don’t. Uh, yeah, so, I’ll just…”

Spike made another noise, trying to respond, but this one was even worse than the last. He flushed to the roots of his hair and pressed his eyeballs into his knees, half-hoping they would burst and then he’d never have to see Jet, Faye, or anyone else ever again. How could he, after this?

He heard brief whispering, then shuffled footsteps receding out of the room. He heaved a sigh, glad to be alone.

How long he stayed balled up in that chair, he couldn’t say, but finally, _finally,_ the tears dried, the panic dissipated, and he exhaled. He unfolded himself and raised his head to find Faye staring at him.

“Jesus!” He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to wipe away all remnants of his emotional upheaval. “Why are you still in here?”

“You never answered my question about Vicious.”

He bit back a groan. After all of that, and she was still on his case. God, she was a stubborn woman. But there was a tiny part of Spike that respected that.

Liked it, even.

She glanced away. “And I wanted to make sure you’d be okay.”

“Oh.” He stood up slowly, feeling drained. “Yeah, I’m okay. Really, I don’t know what happened. I was fine one minute and then the next…” He shrugged. “But now I’m fine again, so.”

Faye scoffed. “Clearly, you’re not. But if you want to pretend you are, that’s your choice. Look, probably the best thing for you to do is get some sleep. Just know that I see through your bullshit, Spiegel. And you’re still not off the hook about this Vicious thing.”

Spike felt a little tingle of warmth in his chest. _She only calls me Spiegel when she’s secretly worried._ The last time had been at his place, when she ran her hands over his scar. It was a move that he hadn’t expected, and one that he could tell was motivated by equal parts pride and worry. Pride because he’d basically dared her to, and worry because she’d looked right through him, and saw that he was just really, really fucking lonely.

So her calling him that now made him feel just a little bit better. Because even though she was worried, it also meant she cared. Cared about _him_. And damn, that was a nice thing to know.

She was looking at him expectantly.

“What?” he asked.

“Go to bed!” She was tapping her foot angrily, hand on her hip, and Spike would be lying if he said it wasn’t one of the cutest things he’d ever seen. _Jesus, this thing for her is getting out of control._ He’d brushed it off at first; figured it was just leftover feelings from Julia and the fact that Faye had been a part of probably the best years of his life.

“I, ah, well, I would, but Vicious is kind of using mine right now.”

Faye gaped at him for a second, as if marveling at his sheer stupidity, before rolling her eyes. She strode forward and grabbed his hand, pulling him out the door before he could protest. “Come on, you’re sleeping in my room then. Assuming Jet hasn’t converted it into an office or something.”

He let himself be dragged down the hallway, smiling to himself.

She was holding his hand again.

They came to a halt in front of her old room. Faye opened the door and pointed inside. “Sleep. Now. I’m going to help Jet with takeoff.” He was just a little disappointed she wouldn’t be joining him.

Spike nodded mutely. She let go of his hand (now he was doubly disappointed) and marched back down the hall. He watched her go, reflecting that she could be a real force to be reckoned with; you just had to give her a sense of purpose. Maybe that’s why she’d done so well with Fantaisie _,_ and had been working subtle miracles on his personal life. Seriously, going to see her that one night with the jazz band was the best decision he’d made in the past two years.

He sighed and flopped down on the bed, shucking the blankets over his head and waiting for sleep. But none came—not when the ship started rumbling, not when he felt them exit the atmosphere, and not when they had been hurtling through space for some time. He tossed and turned, envying Vicious, who no doubt had been asleep since he came on board and would be for much longer still.

Spike tensed when he heard the doorknob turn. He feigned sleep, and then felt like a complete idiot for doing so. But it was too late to go back now, so he kept his eyes closed and his breathing even.

Something that proved almost impossible to do when he felt the mattress dip, and Faye lie down beside him. At least, he assumed it was Faye. He figured Jet wouldn’t have fit on the bed, narrow as it was.

He heard her breathing softly, trying not to wake him. He felt something hovering over his face for a moment, as if hesitating.

Then, so light he almost missed it, her lips brushed against his forehead, in a display of tenderness unlike anything Spike had experienced in a very long time.

There were two parts of him that reacted to this, and each conflicted drastically with the other. On the one hand, Spike really, _really,_ wanted to open his eyes and scare the shit out of her, because that would absolutely priceless. On the other hand, he wanted to open his eyes and kiss the shit out of her. That would be priceless too.

But in the end, he just kept his eyes closed. He still hadn’t been able to get a read on her. Sometimes she seemed into him, and other times she hated his guts, per usual. Their relationship was already so fucking complicated anyway. So he just stayed where he was, listening to her breathing slow, then even out, as she fell asleep next to him.

He opened his eyes then, and looked at her. She looked younger when she was asleep, though Spike found that to be true with most people. He reached out silently and touched a lock of her hair, splayed across the pillowcase. Yeah, he definitely liked it better this way. He was glad he told her the other night, when they were dancing. It seemed to make her happy. And he wanted her to be happy, after that really weird visit to his place the time before. They’d been doing okay at the start, but then it went off the rails at some point, somewhere between the scotch and the picture frame, before the blood. But now, it seemed like they were getting back on track, maybe even moving towards… _something,_ he guessed. _But fuck if I know what that something is._ He squeezed his eyes shut. _Go to sleep. Go to sleep. Go to sleep. Go to sle-_

He froze.

Faye had just shifted, muttering something in her sleep. She rolled over, squishing right against his side, one leg thrown over his. Now he really tried to keep his breathing even, in case she woke up. But she didn’t, just slept on, unaware she was making his heart beat so fast he thought he might need to go to a hospital.

Well, there was no way he was going to fall asleep now. So he just stared up at the ceiling and tried to think of anything under the sun that wasn’t the way Faye’s body was pressed against his, because then he was going to have a whole other issue on his hands.

For the second time that night, he lost track of time. All he knew was that sometime later on, Faye stirred again, and rolled back over to her side of the bed.

He let out an audible sigh, both relieved and disappointed. Then, quietly as he could, he sat up. Spike knew himself, and he was positive he’d be getting no sleep tonight. Faye had been wrong—he didn’t need a nap, he needed to clear his head. And there was really only one way he did that. He shifted slowly on the mattress, climbing over Faye and wincing when the springs creaked noisily.

Her eyes blinked open, and she looked up at him drowsily. “Where are you going?” Then she looked down, and he wanted to die. “What are you doing?” She really had woken up at the worst possible moment. He was halfway over, basically straddling her, hands planted on either side of her face and his hips only inches away from hers.

She smirked at him. “You know, you could have just asked.” She stretched suggestively beneath him, her arms crossing above her head. He knew she was joking, but _(Jesus Christ)_ the way she was looking at him, and posing like that…

_Oh._

_Fuck._

_Get off her. **Now.**_

He scrambled off the bed, barely landing on his feet with a hard thud. She just smirked at him again before waving lazily. “Night, lunkhead.” Then she rolled over, asleep again in seconds.

He practically sprinted out of the room, embarrassed beyond words yet again. He made his way to the observation deck and vowed to put the incident out of his mind. Vowed to put everything out of his mind, really, because now was the time to truly clear his head.

He stripped off his shirt and stretched, loosening his muscles and warming up. He’d done this routine a million times, and at least a thousand in this very room. It was effortless, the poses flowing smoothly and his breath coming slow and easy. He stayed there for the rest of the night, in the dark, moving like water and looking out at the stars.

_Home again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmmm, all of them stuck together on the Bebop, this could get interesting. Or potentially violent. Who knows? (Violent, it'll probably get violent.)
> 
> Come back next time to check in with Faye, she's got her own thoughts about this whole turn of events.


	17. High Sock Wishes and Lip Cream Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Am I alone, or is there a wonderful person next to me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New update! This one took a bit longer because I was caught up in holiday stuff, but hope you guys enjoy. Really making use of that slow burn tag...

Faye could probably sleep through an earthquake, if she wanted to. After Spike’s little interruption last night, she’d dropped off again, and hadn’t woken until the Bebop had docked firmly on the surface of the Earth.

In the shower, she pressed a hand to her mouth, smiling. She’d been a little disappointed last night, to find Spike already asleep, but waking up to his mortified face was completely worth it. She’d managed to stay calm, too, despite the rapid beating of her heart.

Faye toweled off and changed, taking her time. The Bebop certainly paled in comparison to her apartment, but it had a homey touch she was grateful for. It felt right, being back here, and she was immensely glad Shin had tipped her off in the first place. She really had to find the perfect wedding gift for him and Lola.

So, they were on Earth. Faye hadn’t come back once in these last two years; it had never seemed like the right time. But now they were back, whether she liked it or not, and she had the feeling she needed to go see it again. Not just the dusty, scorched craters, but her Earth, the one with green grass and sparkling blue water.

She’d helped Jet with the takeoff last night, and she knew they were charted to land only a mile or so from her childhood home. She’d debated on saying something then, but decided against it. _Whatever happens, happens, as Spike always says._ Maybe she could learn a thing or two by thinking like him. Well, today was the day to try it out.

She trudged out into the open hold about an hour later, feeling refreshed and ready for the day. Spike was the only one there, lying on the couch and watching the ceiling fan. He sat up eagerly when he saw her. “Hey, Valentine.”

“Hey. Where’s everyone else?”

“Well, we landed mid-morning, and Jet went off to sleep. It’s late afternoon, now.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And the _other_ one?”

Spike rolled his eyes, hard. “ _Vicious_ is still asleep, too.”

“Isn’t that bad? Sleeping for, like, a day?”

“Maybe?” He shrugged. “Honestly, I’m not sure. But he hasn’t woken up yet, so.”

Silence hung between them for a few awkward moments, and Faye hated it. Clearly, Spike was still feeling embarrassed about last night. Whether about the breakdown or the bedroom, she couldn’t say. Maybe both. She opened her mouth.

“Hey, about last night…” He looked up at her, face neutral but panicky beneath the surface. That was unsettling; Spike never panicked. “It’s okay. Everyone kinda freaks out sometimes. God knows I’ve done it more than once.”

He sagged with relief; he must have been worried she’d tease him about it. She felt a little stab of hurt, that he would think that about her. Though, she figured that was kind of their thing. Insult, retort, rinse, repeat.

She didn’t want that to be their thing anymore.

The stuff in her bedroom, the dance from the other night, _that_ should be their thing.

“So,” he said, changing the subject, “any good tourist attractions here on Earth? Only time I really spent here was crawling through an abandoned shopping mall. Well, that, and Ed’s dad beating the shit out of me.”

Several questions sprang to mind, but Faye forwent them all, instead offering up her original plan, and inviting him along. _Whatever happens, happens._

Spike considered for a moment. “Yeah, that could be fun. I’m guessing Jet and Vicious won’t be up for a while anyway.”

Faye bit back a smile as they headed down the ramp of the Bebop. The ground was rocky and dry, but the weather was fair, so the walk was surprisingly pleasant. It got even better when Spike, in an attempt to keep her from falling over some loose rubble, grabbed her and pulled her upright. Even when Faye was back on her own two feet, he still held onto her hand, so she didn’t let go either.

They walked in easy silence, fingers intertwined, and eventually came to the pavement and green grass she’d remembered. Before long, they reached the first lion fountain she’d seen here with Ed, the railing still overlooking the water below.

Faye came to a halt on the grass, taking it all in. It was strange to be back here, even more so with Spike. Her old house was only a half-mile up the road, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to go there now.

Spike had stopped too. “It’s beautiful,” he said. He turned to look at her straight on. “I mean it Faye; I’ve never been anywhere like this.”

“Well,” she replied, sitting in the grass, “it was even better before.” He flopped down next to her. “But it’s never good to dwell on the past.”

“No,” he agreed. “It’s not.”

_I wonder if he really means that._

_I hope he does._

She took a deep breath, his hand still entwined with hers.

“My house, the one I grew up in, is right up the street. Well, it’s not really there now, it’s just ruins. But I found it last time I was here, when I got my memories back. My old room—you can still see where it was—I just laid there for hours, remembering. The toys, the clothes, the makeup. High socks and lip cream. I remember those two things the most, for some reason. My past, in two parts. Top to bottom, I guess, the things that made me, me.

“That tape, the one you and Jet found, helped more than you know. I never thanked you for that, did I? I guess I’m thanking you now. When I first saw it, well, when we all saw it, I couldn’t remember a thing. It was just a little girl; someone I didn’t know. But she loved me. And that made me want to remember, more than anything else had. Somewhere out there in the universe, and deep inside my head, there was a girl who loved me.

“And she was cheering for me. No one had ever done that before, believed in me like that. I saw that tape and, I just, I wanted to be better. If not for me, then for _her._ ‘My only self.’”

She paused. The sun was shining in the sky, winking over the water. She whispered up to it.

“‘Am I alone, or is there a wonderful person next to me?’”

She turned to find Spike sprawled next to her, fast asleep.

She wanted to be annoyed, but the dark circles under his eyes and the way he looked so relaxed kept her irritation at bay. Besides, everything she’d said had been for her own benefit anyway.

She studied him, taking in the way he slept. Not at all like most people, arms and legs contained within their normal orbit, but spread akimbo, almost like he’d fallen four stories and had splatted onto the ground. Faye shuddered to think of the time he actually had fallen four stories, wrapped head to toe in bandages for weeks. She’d been callous then, unable to sort out the feelings that were whirling around inside her.

Now, she thought, she’d be better, more sensitive, if he ever got hurt like that again. Sometimes, late at night, she wondered what he’d been through, after his last fight with Vicious. She’d seen the scar, and it didn’t take much to imagine the pain that had come with it. _It looks worse than it feels,_ he’d said, and that had made her saddest of all.

An old woman ambled nearby on the arm of a bored-looking boy, most likely her grandson. They glanced over at Faye, and she panicked for a moment, wondering if this old lady was some former classmate of hers. That had happened last time she was here, and it was…weird.

But the old woman just smiled and waved as they passed, stopping for a moment to point at Spike. “You have a lovely boyfriend. Reminds me of my Charlie, when we were young.” The boy mumbled something, visibly embarrassed, and tugged at his grandmother to keep moving. Faye just waved back, too stunned to reply.

The pair continued on, leaving Faye to stare out at the setting sun and Spike to go on sleeping beside her. He looked peaceful, she decided. When he was awake, he almost always looked calm, but this was different. Peaceful, now, like the weight of the world was finally off his shoulders. Like the past, such a great piece of that weight, had been forgotten. And Faye took refuge in that; there was a specific part of the past she would gladly have Spike forget. One she felt stood like a wall between her and him, and what they could be. _To what may be._

So no, she couldn’t be mad at him for falling asleep, and she was inclined to let him stay that way. And she did, until the sun had sunk nearly below the water, and the sky was painted beautiful pinks, purples, and golds. Faye’s breath caught in her throat. Say what you will about Earth, but its sunsets were still glorious. She turned to wake Spike, finally, not wanting him to miss the magic. She doubted he’d ever seen anything like this. She reached out a hand, but hesitated.

Faye felt the hint of a smirk on her lips. He’d woken her suddenly last night, and she was more than happy to return the favor, in identical fashion. Quietly, she planted her hands on either side of his head and swung one of her legs over to the other side. Her hips hovered squarely above his, a perfectly inverted replica of last night’s debacle. Which, personally, she thought she’d handled rather well. Her reaction had certainly shocked him, that’s for sure. She was hoping to do it again now.

Leaning down, she let the tips of her hair tickle his nose. He twitched in his sleep, face scrunching, and her heart squeezed at how adorable it was. So adorable, in fact, that she wanted to see it again. She repeated the motion, and he responded in kind. It was just as cute the second time. She went in for a third, but had clearly misjudged Spike’s ability to sleep through small annoyances. His eyes snapped open and he sat up, knocking her hands from their position in the grass and slamming his torso into hers.

Last night’s position had now evolved into something else entirely. Faye straddled Spike’s lap, chest flush against his, her arms wrapped around his back in an effort to stay upright. He was, to put it lightly, confused. Spike’s gaze bounced around for several moments as he tried to take stock of the situation, and how it’d come to pass. From the look on his face, he seemed to be drawing a blank.

Faye, taking pity on him, laughed and readjusted herself to settle more comfortably in his lap. “Payback for last night.”

Spike understood immediately. Recognition, and a flicker of satisfaction, crossed his face. His hands came to rest on her hips, thumbs tracing smooth circles that left her skin tingling. “If this is payback,” he said, “then I’ve got to start sleeping in your bed more often.” His voice, low and gravelly with desire, made her stomach flip.

She waited for both of them to blush, or look away, but neither did. Her heart, already beating fast, sped up even more. Was this really happening? After all this time, could it really be as simple as this?

A careless insult; a playful retort. It was their thing, after all.

He leaned closer, waiting. She took a breath. “Consider this an invitation, then.”

He nodded. “Might just have to take you up on that.” They’d dropped to whispers, a conversation meant for them only. No one else. Just Spike and Faye. And goddamn, she’d been aching for something like this since maybe the day he’d gone off to die.

She felt the sudden urge to make this position, this place, this moment, irrevocably theirs. Hers and Spike’s. And no one else’s. There were already too many ghosts between them. But here, now, it was impossible to miss the way his eyes would dart away from her own to glance down at her lips. There was a hunger there, one that excited Faye.

What she said next would be crucial—something that was equal parts sexy, witty, and captured what she was feeling, that need for their own distinct intimacy. A tall order, but one that, with Spike so close and so warm beneath her, now seemed possible in a way it hadn’t before. She leaned forward and murmured in his ear.

“Bet you never did this with Julia.”

Her eyes widened, realizing what she’d said. Never in her life did she want to take something back so badly as she did in this moment.

Spike drew back, looking angry, embarrassed, and utterly hurt. “Why would you say that?” His voice sounded ragged, like he was struggling to get the words out. She’d shocked him, there was no doubt. But not the way she’d meant to. Faye wanted to slap herself. _Yes, why the fuck would you say that?_ But she had no answer for herself, and none for Spike either; she just opened and closed her mouth like some idiotic fish.

His eyes, so open and inviting only a moment ago, shuttered closed. Mouth now set in a grim line, he gently, but firmly, shifted her off his lap onto the grass below. It scratched at the backs of her calves and she wanted to cry. _So fucking close._

Spike stood abruptly and finally looked out at the sunset. If it had any effect on him, he didn’t show it. “We should get back. Vicious is probably awake now.”

Faye scrambled to her feet as well, any warmth between them clearly gone. She was angry now, partly at herself for saying what she did, and partly at Spike for taking it so personally. She couldn’t help but feel that he was still in love with Julia; he had to be. What other explanation was there? And then, just now, mentioning Vicious. As if to drive home the fact that he was still living in the past. Welcoming the devil with one hand and worshipping a ghost with the other.

She’d had enough. _It takes two to tango._ And if he didn’t want to dance, then, well, she wouldn’t force him any longer.

The walk back to the Bebop was agonizingly long; the silence that was so comfortable before now fraught with tension. Faye stopped short, trying to catch her breath before climbing back up the ramp. Spike paused beside her, waiting. She was oddly touched by the gesture but couldn’t bring herself to say anything about it. It was only a gesture, after all.

She chanced a glance at him. He looked as miserable as she felt.

They started to climb the ramp together, when a voice, lilting and familiar, rang out above their heads.

“FAYE-FAYE!”

Faye’s head snapped up.

“Ed?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, shit. Will anything ever go right for these two? Seems dubious at best.
> 
> Fun little Bebop fact but "High Socks" and "Lip Cream" are both on the OST and get played during Faye's VHS tape and I ~think~ when she gets some of her memories back in the shower. Both are beautiful and I basically had them on repeat writing this chapter so check them out! Linked a video that plays both back to back.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u1hogvKag80
> 
> Next, back to Jet! He'll be more than happy to fill us in on what happened while Spike and Faye were off in their own little world, because it was a lot, and he's certainly got a lot to say about it.


	18. Radical Fanatical Signal Switcheroo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, someone better pay for a new computer. Jet really needs to start with the invoices again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to God it's always the Jet chapters! Sorry for the later update, I just could NOT get my brain to focus long enough to write more than three sentences at once. BUT, this is also my longest chapter yet so savor it! Hope to have the next one up tomorrow at some point, it's been marinating in my brain and I'm very excited about it.

Jet pawed at his wrist monitor, which was beeping very loudly and very shrilly in the quiet of his room. He rolled out of his bed, grumbling, and plodded down the hall towards the control room, only half awake and wishing he was still fully asleep.

His monitor kept beeping, telling him something had pinged the Bebop’s signal. Someone might be reaching out to contact him, possibly from ISSP. Jet figured no matter who was sending the message, it was probably best if he was the one to receive it. Spike hadn’t been very forthcoming about why they were here on Earth, or about his feelings on Jet’s cop connections.

Well, he hadn’t been very forthcoming about his feelings in general. Even after last night’s breakdown, Jet was no closer to understanding Spike than before. Watching Spike cry had been bizarre and a little bit embarrassing, but mostly scary as shit, which is why he’d gotten the hell out of there.

Faye was about to leave too, but ultimately decided to stay behind with the nutcase. Jet figured it was just as well; maybe she could lure Spike into a fight, and he’d snap out of it. But when she came into the hold an hour later, she seemed calm.

“He’s sleeping now,” she said. Jet resisted the urge to ask several questions, ranging from _How did you get him to stop crying?_ to _Is he sleeping in your bed?_ and, probably the worst, _Are you going to join him?_

Not that Jet was jealous, he wouldn’t touch that bag of crazy in a million years. If Spike wanted Faye, more power to him. And if she wanted him, even better. Jet really couldn’t care less, honestly, he’d be relieved. If those two idiots got together, maybe they’d stop fighting every thirty seconds, and he could finally get some damn peace.

So instead, he’d just motioned for her to follow him to the control room, where they worked together to activate Jet’s earlier coordinates and get the Bebop into hyperspace. He snuck a glance at Faye while she studied their course, wondering how she felt about going back home to Earth. But she’d just shrugged and walked back out to the hold before flopping down on the dusty yellow couch. Jet joined her, and they sat in silence for a few moments.

She turned to him. “So you got tricked again, huh?”

Then, it was like a dam broke, and they couldn’t get the words out fast enough, talking for the next few hours like they were the oldest and closest of friends. The old and close part, that was right, but neither he nor Faye would say the same about being friends. Still, he found it strangely easy to talk with her, and her with him, if the way she was dumping exposition about the past two years of her life was anything to go by. Turns out, she’d had quite a ride, not to mention some ungodly good luck.

“So, I got beat up and put in solitary,” he groused, “while you got a penthouse apartment and job security. How’s that work?”

Faye shrugged. “You played by the rules, Jet. I didn’t.” She said it jokingly, but it hit him hard. She was right. He _had_ played by the rules, and still was, really. Maybe that’s why all her interactions with Spike had gone infinitely better than his.

He wanted to talk with her about Spike, get her perspective. He was such a different man than they’d both known on the Bebop, and Jet was still struggling to come to terms with that. Faye, though, seemed to have taken those changes in stride. The whole crying thing hadn’t appeared to faze her in the least. He was about to ask her about it, but she stood up and rubbed her eyes tiredly.

“Well, Jet, it was weirdly great catching up with you, but I’m going to bed.”

“Sounds good, Faye. I’ll be up for a while longer, make sure we land okay.”

She just yawned and threw a lazy wave over her shoulder. Jet wondered if she was going off to share a bed with Spike, or if she’d curl up in some abandoned corner of the ship, Ed-style.

Ed. God, he missed that weird little girl. She was the one bright spot on the ship, always laughing and always happy to see him. He wondered if they’d find her somewhere on Earth, maybe roaming around the craters with her dad and her dog. Jet had really missed Ein too. Out of everyone on the Bebop, he’d been the best listener by far.

Jet got to his feet and stretched, before trudging back to the control room. He sat there for the rest of the night, watching the monitor as the red dot of the Bebop inched farther and farther along its trajectory.

The touchdown had been no problem, just a little bumpy. He slapped the dash when they landed, proud of his girl for pulling through after being dormant for so long. He heard a curse from somewhere to the left, followed by the sound of someone falling over. _Observation deck. Gotta be Spike, then._

And it was, Jet happening upon him a minute later, sweaty, shirtless, and sprawled on the deck floor. Jet figured he’d probably gotten knocked over by the turbulence, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about it.

If he’d been kind to Spike during last night’s episode, it was only out of shock. Jet was still angry at him for bringing Vicious on the ship. Despite what Spike had confessed to him, Jet remained wary. A slighted maniac was still a maniac. And, arguably, worse. Add in the fact that the man who betrayed him was on board the same ship, and, well, it didn’t really get more dangerous than that.

Jet wanted to laugh, though. _The two most dangerous criminals this side of the galaxy. And I’ve seen both of them cry._

Spike looked up at him, annoyed. “Your junky-ass ship messed up my kata.”

Jet shrugged. “Don’t see how that’s my problem.”

Spike clambered to his feet. Jet’s eyebrows shot up, clocking the wicked scar carved into Spike’s chest. Spike noticed and grinned. “Wanna touch it?”

“Hell yeah.” Jet bounded forward and ran a hand over it, awestruck. “Spike, this is…awesome.”

“I know, right?”

Jet dropped his hand and stepped back. “Look, about earlier...”

Spike’s mouth twisted and he looked at the floor. “Jet, you don’t have to say anything. I don’t really know what happened either.”

“I was going to say it’s fine, Spike. We all have feelings, and they gotta get out somehow.” Spike just fidgeted awkwardly. “This thing with Vicious though,” Spike’s head shot up, “not so fine.”

“Jet, I hate to tell you this, but you’re not really in control of the situation. He’s here, on board, and that’s it. You don’t have a lot of leverage.”

Jet suddenly wanted to punch him, hard, but he thought better of it. Spike was right; he was the one calling the shots, not Jet. Because Jet played by the rules, and Spike never had. So instead, he just sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

“I know that, Spike. I’m just saying, and correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems like you want to put an end to this fight as much as I do. And I’ve been giving you chance after chance, I really have, but this is the last one. I get that you’re Head of the Dragon now, and your priorities are different, really, I do. And I still want to be your friend. But the thing is, Spike-o, I can’t be your friend if I can’t trust you. So no more lies, okay, kid?”

Spike bit his lip, then nodded. “No more lies. That’s a promise.”

He seemed sincere enough, and Jet felt a little bit better as he stumbled off to bed. They were back on track again, and hopefully, this time, it would stick.

He was brought back to the present when a loud crash sounded from within the control room. The beeping on his wrist monitor stopped abruptly. Jet swore and ran the rest of the way, now fully awake.

Vicious was standing over the control panel, frowning. The monitor, which seconds before had been intercepting a signal, now sparked and fritzed out of control, probably due to the fact that there was something sticking out of it. Vicious’ katana, to be exact.

Vicious looked over at him. “It wouldn’t stop beeping.”

Jet wanted to scream.

“Did you at least read the message?”

“Just said ‘R.E.’ over and over.”

“R.E.?”

“Red Eye. The coordinates they broadcasted from just confirmed where the plant is.”

“Plant?”

Vicious studied him with those empty gray eyes, and Jet felt unnerved. “I guess Spike didn’t tell you shit.”

“You can say that again,” Jet huffed. “Can you please get your sword out of my computer?”

Vicious turned and blinked, as if just realizing the katana was there. Jet winced at the sound of breaking glass as Vicious pulled it free. He held it in his hand and Jet tensed, worried he’d start swinging. After seeing the damage he’d done to Spike up close, Jet wasn’t eager to be on the receiving end of that blade anytime soon.

He put a hand on his gun, but Vicious just walked right past him and out the door, mind clearly elsewhere. Jet shook his head; this reminded him of the time Spike had broken the Betamax weirdo’s VCR. He still got calls from that guy occasionally, not that he ever answered them.

Jet surveyed the damage. The monitor would have to be replaced, obviously, but everything else seemed to be functioning properly. Still, he’d missed the message, and the coordinates of whoever had sent it, so he’d have to ask Vicious. Not a prospect he was looking forward to. He sighed, trying to mentally prepare himself for what would probably be a very awkward conversation. He wondered if he’d have to chase Vicious down.

But when he turned, Vicious was standing right behind him. Jet jumped. “Christ, you’re like a ghost.”

Vicious just stared at him. “Spike isn’t here.”

“No? Guess he must have gone out then, we’ve been docked for a while.”

“Tell him I went to the plant. I wrote the coordinates down.” He thrust a paper at Jet, who took it cautiously. Vicious’ handwriting was nothing like Jet would have thought; it almost looked like calligraphy.

“You’re going alone?” he asked.

“Spike isn’t here,” Vicious repeated, like that answered everything. Jet supposed it kind of did.

“Well, I can come. If you want.” He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. _Why did I say that?_

Vicious considered for a moment before pointing to Jet’s gun. “Any good with that?”

“Better than most.”

Jet had little time to reflect on what the hell he’d gotten himself into, as Vicious spun on his heel and headed for the Bebop ramp, which was already deployed. Jet figured that meant Spike had definitely gone out, and maybe Faye as well. _Maybe they’re doing something together._ They’d be an odd couple, there was no doubt, but Jet also thought that if they could reconcile their differences, maybe they’d finally notice their similarities. Like how they both managed to give Jet a heart attack about three times a day.

_Speaking of heart attacks…_

Vicious stalked ahead of Jet, navigating easily down the ramp and over the rocky terrain below. Jet was surprised, and a little uneasy; he figured Vicious would have been a little less dexterous after being in a coma for so long. The coordinates Jet had read put their destination about six miles from where they’d landed, and the way Vicious was moving, they would make good time.

Jet studied him, a strange amalgamation of sharp angles and comfortable simplicity. His katana, drawn and gleaming wickedly in the sun, stood at odds with his clothes; soft, loose things Jet had assumed he’d borrowed from Spike.

Still, it wasn’t hard to imagine Vicious in the suit and coat that seemed to be the uniform of a Red Dragon. Jet was willing to bet he’d worn them before, and, a chilling thought, he probably would again. He and Spike seemed to be on good terms, the best of terms, even. Jet was bitter, of course, that their friendship had resumed so easily while his own was hanging on by a thread.

 _And I’ve never tried to kill Spike._ Jet shook his head. After his talk with Spike last night, he was beginning to see that Spike and Vicious were more similar than he’d thought, and even their differences seemed to compliment each other. They were connected, Jet realized, in a way that he and Spike never would be, bonded by the threat of mutual destruction.

They’d must’ve tried to kill each other enough times to figure it out. As long as they were content to cycle through the motions, they’d continue on as they always had, at each other’s throats or at each other’s mercy. Seemed like they were in the mercy half, but Jet was ready to put a bullet in Vicious the moment that changed, Spike’s friendship be damned.

Jet and Vicious walked in silence for the better part of an hour, traversing the dusty ground and sidestepping loose rocks. They skirted giant craters, and Jet couldn’t help but look down into each of them, feeling a twinge of disappointment when he found them empty. _I wonder if Ed’s even still on Earth._

Vicious pulled up short, and Jet, lost in thought, almost smacked into him. They’d come to what looked like a ghost town, abandoned long ago by former residents of Earth. They’d passed several of these places on the way, towns leftover from the old days. Some people still lived in them, but most were used for more illicit operations. This one looked truly abandoned though; the wind whistling eerily through the empty ruins.

“Why’d we stop?”

“Hide.”

“What?”

But Vicious had already slid into the nearest building, a ramshackle house with smashed windows and no front door. Jet scrambled after him, swearing as he tripped over a fallen shutter. Vicious scowled at him, and he shrugged helplessly.

They stood in the shadows, and Jet noticed Vicious, despite moving so smoothly, looked a lot worse for wear. He was ashen and drenched in sweat, and his breaths, though quiet, were coming short and fast. Jet thought back to yesterday, when he could barely stand, and was silently impressed with his performance so far.

“You okay?” he asked. _Do I care, though?_ Well, he did, a little bit, if only because he’d be the one to carry Vicious’ bony ass back to the Bebop if he passed out. _Or I could just leave him here._ A tempting prospect, but probably not the best move, considering he and Spike were just starting to be friends again.

Vicious just nodded and motioned for him to shut up. He pressed against the wall, gripping his katana. Jet just watched mutely, confused as to why they were even hiding in the first place. He hadn’t heard anything, and, as far as he could tell, the town was deserted. Though, upon further reflection, he realized the coordinates they’d been sent would put them only a few hundred yards away from where they were now.

Without a sound, Vicious whirled out of the doorway, ready to attack. He paused, lowering his katana, and cocked his head.

“What the fuck.”

Jet stepped out of the house to stand next to him. “What is it-”

“JET-PERSON!”

Ed was running towards them, and Jet felt like his chest was going to explode.

“Ed!” He opened his arms and she leapt into them, giggling. “What are you doing here?”

“Edward sent the signal to Jet-person, and he found us!” It was then that Jet noticed Ein on the ground nearby, yipping happily. Jet set Ed down and looked her over, scarcely able to believe she was really there.

“Woah! You must’ve grown a foot! You’re taller than Faye!” Other than that, Ed seemed to look the same, her orange hair still sticking out in every direction and her trusty goggles jammed on top of her head.

She clapped her hands. “Faye-Faye! And Spike-person! Bebop crew, just like new!” she sang, twirling in a circle. She ground to a halt and looked confused. “Bebop crew…does not know you…” She pointed at Vicious, who was still staring.

Jet didn’t like the way he was examining Ed, like she was some prey he might like to hunt. And then eat. He stepped in front of Vicious.

“Ed, this is Vicious. He knows Spike.”

Ed nodded wisely. “Friend-person.”

“No, no,” Jet said, worried she’d gotten the wrong idea, “not a friend. He’s just traveling with us for a bit.” And that was true, because, even if Spike was in charge, Jet was planning to drop-kick Vicious, sans oxygen, into outer space the moment he stepped out of line.

But Ed shook her head and tugged on his arm, trying to make him turn around. “Friend-person,” she repeated. Jet turned.

Vicious was sitting cross-legged on the ground, Ein in his lap and licking his face. Jet did a double-take, because he could’ve sworn Vicious was smiling _._ Then, it got even weirder, because he started laughing. He was petting Ein and _laughing,_ and Jet felt like his brain was going to explode.

 _Yeesh, even his laugh gives me the creeps._ It was a low and harsh thing, and Jet thought it sounded too dark to truly come from a place of happiness. He laughed like a murderer, like someone who’d never been innocent in their entire life. Ed didn’t seem put off though, because she plopped down right next to him, reaching out to scratch Ein behind the ears. Jet felt like he’d just entered a parallel universe.

Vicious looked at Ed. “You sent the message.”

“R-E, come find me! Ed sent it; Ed missed her friends. But now they’re here! Hooray!” She waved her arms excitedly and grinned up at Jet. He smiled back.

“R.E.” Vicious repeated, confused.

“Radical Edward, of course!” _Oh, of course. Not Red Eye._ Vicious narrowed his eyes at Ed, and Jet, truly worried now, interrupted.

“Ed, where’s your father?”

Ed tilted her head up to look at him and pulled her goggles over her eyes. “Father-person is up in the sky, said bye-bye! Ed stayed on Earth in case Bebop came back! And it did, it did, yay!”

She stood up and skipped in a circle around Jet. He wondered how long she’d been alone here, and if her father had any plans to come back. Although he doubted he’d be able to get a straight answer from Ed if he asked.

Vicious lifted Ein out of his lap and stood. Ein barked unhappily on the ground and pawed at his leg, but Vicious ignored him, turning to face Ed. “Have you ever seen anyone around here before? Maybe some men, ones with guns.”

Ed bounced up and down on her toes and pointed to the biggest building in the town. “Ed saw them, they were mean. Mean and lean, fighting machine!” She punched at the air; Jet stepped back to dodge her flying fists. “But they’re all gone now, no one home. Spooooky, scaaaaary ghost town,” she intoned. Vicious blinked at her, and Jet snorted a laugh. He was used to Ed-speak by now, but Vicious was obviously a novice.

Vicious started walking towards the building, and Ed followed. Jet caught up to them, Ein tailing behind and sniffing the ground. “What exactly are we looking for?”

“Red Eye plant,” Vicious replied. “Coordinates put it right there.” He gestured to the building with his katana.

“But Ed sent those coordinates,” Jet said.

“Yes, but our source sent the same ones before we left. That’s the plant.”

“Doesn’t look like much to me.” But when they reached the building and looked in from the doorway, Jet saw that Vicious was right. Despite the dirt floor and broken windows, there was a full-scale factory inside, hidden from the world by the building’s crumbling façade. Workstations were littered with empty vials and various chemicals, the back wall was lined with computer monitors, and strange machines Jet recognized as centrifuges sat on each table. _This stuff must cost a fortune._

“Why would they just abandon this?” he asked.

“Because they knew we were coming,” Vicious said darkly. He was squinting at the ground inside, like he’d just noticed something.

Ed gasped and pointed to the monitors. “Computer for free, come to meeeee!” _Good idea,_ Jet thought. _We can replace the one Vicious stabbed._ She rocketed into the room and had made it halfway across when Vicious called out harshly.

“Stop!”

Ed froze. “Stay outside,” he muttered to Jet. “Get ready to run.”

He crept in after Ed, who looked just as confused as Jet felt. Still, she seemed content to wait for Vicious, who had spoken with such authority to both of them that they had no choice but to do what he said. Jet hovered nervously in the doorway with Ein.

Vicious approached slowly, hands outstretched. His eyes were glued to the floor, searching. When he reached Ed and crouched down next to her, Jet saw him examine the ground beneath her feet and exhale, relieved. He stood up and whispered something to Ed. She paled, and Jet felt his heart thumping in his ears.

“What’s going on?” he called.

Neither of them answered. Instead, they made their way slowly back towards him, Vicious standing behind Ed and murmuring in her ear. She looked scared, but determined, and seemed to be hanging on every word he said. He placed a hand on Ed’s back, gently steering her this way and that, in a pattern that looked ridiculous to Jet but seemed to make sense to Vicious.

They had just reached the doorway when Ein barked and ran towards Vicious. Ed, crossing the threshold, clung to Jet’s side. Her eyes widened when she saw Ein had moved, darting underneath Vicious and tugging at his pant leg. Both Ed and Jet gasped as Vicious swayed, struggling to maintain his balance. Almost in slow-motion, he fell sideways and slammed into one of the tables. Its contents began to smash to pieces on the ground as they rolled in waves off the tabletop. A centrifuge had tipped onto its side and now teetered on the edge, ready to fall.

Vicious looked at Jet. “Fucking run.”

And they did, sprinting for their lives, although Jet still didn’t know why. They managed to get a good eight hundred yards away before Jet heard an explosive blast.

“Down!” Vicious barked, and they all dropped, Jet moving to cover Ed. He felt a roaring wave of heat roll over their heads, and something hard smack into his metal arm. They stayed still for a minute, before Vicious staggered to his feet. “All clear.”

Jet stood up and offered a hand to Ed. She popped up, seemingly unhurt _(thank God)_ and stared in awe at the now-decimated structure behind them.

“What the fuck was that?” Jet demanded angrily. Vicious had also turned to look at the smoking ruins, scowling. Other than a few cuts and scrapes, he’d escaped unscathed as well. _Small miracles,_ Jet thought. His arm had been hit by falling debris, but seemed to still be in working order. Vicious glanced over at Jet, just now registering his question.

“Land mine.”

Jet gaped at him. He’d heard of land mines back in his ISSP training course, but had never dreamed he’d actually happen upon one. “How’d you know to how do that? To avoid them?”

“The army.”

“You were in the military? Where did you fight?”

“Titan.”

Jet’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know that.”

Vicious didn’t respond. Jet noticed he did that a lot, staying silent to effectively end conversations he had no interest in continuing. No wonder he and Spike got along; he too, could be a silent bastard when he was in a mood. He couldn’t even imagine what it would have been like to spend time with the two of them. Jet figured Julia must have been quite the talker.

 _Julia, caught in the middle._ It was absurd to think of Vicious being in love, and Jet, for the life of him, couldn’t picture him even liking someone. The little he’d seen of Vicious interacting with Spike had done nothing to convince him he was capable of intimacy. The formula seemed to be question from Spike, grunt from Vicious. Suggestion from Spike, grunt from Vicious. Joke from Spike, grunt from Vicious.

Honestly, he’d spoken more in the past hour than Jet had ever heard, and he’d only said about twelve words.

So, Jet just let the conversation die, and they all began making their way back to the Bebop. Vicious walked ahead of them, Ein trailing at his heels. Jet pretended not to notice the way he would list to the side every now and again, staggering for a few steps before righting himself.

Ed walked next to Jet, prattling away about how she’d been tracking the Bebop for the past two years and had been very excited to see it make its way back to Earth. Jet was listening, trying to follow her train of thought, but he only understood about half of what she said. Nevertheless, he was happy to have her back. Seeing Ed again made him realize just how much he’d missed her, and Ein.

His bonsai tree came to mind, the joy he got from it. Maybe that’s what he needed, something, or someone, to take care of. Having Ed back meant he had someone to be responsible for. _Someone that needs me._ And that’s all Jet really wanted, he realized. To be needed. That’s what the Bebop had been about, for so long, ever since the day Spike had climbed aboard, lost and looking for a friend. He’d needed Jet’s help, and so had Faye, in her own, peculiar way. Ed too, in the most normal sense, had needed Jet, someone to make sure she was eating and sleeping and not spending too much time on the computer.

They made it back just as the sun set, and Jet was grateful. Getting lost in the dark would have been a nightmare, especially with this strange group. He had no doubt Vicious would’ve already tried to strangle Ed if he wasn’t so out of it.

And he really was, walking slowly up the Bebop ramp and failing to notice Ed scampering up behind him.

“Be careful!” Jet called, but Ed wasn’t listening, too excited to be back and too eager to start exploring. She shimmied past Vicious, who startled. Jet frowned; from what he could tell, Vicious seemed impossible to surprise. _He must be seriously off._

Jet made his way up the ramp much more cautiously than Ed, and Vicious was able to step to the side, out of his way. The paper Vicious had given Jet earlier still laid abandoned on the floor of the hold, so he figured Spike and Faye must not have returned yet.

He could hear Ed yelling, saying hello to the Bebop and all its parts she’d clearly missed so much. It warmed his heart to hear her running around with Ein at her heels; it felt right. _The Bebop crew, finally back together._ Well, as soon as Spike and Faye got back from wherever they’d gone, anyway. Then they could get going; if he’d correctly interpreted the little Vicious had said, then he and Spike’s plan for Earth had been a bust.

Jet snapped back to attention at the sound of Vicious, who had been making his way slowly towards the sleeping quarters. He’d stumbled and was clutching at the wall, trying to stay upright. Jet felt a stab of pity. He jogged over to Vicious and braced a hand under his elbow, hauling him into a standing position. Jet half-expected Vicious to growl at, or, God forbid, bite him, but he just leaned tiredly into Jet’s hand, breathing harshly.

His eyes flicked to Jet’s.

“Don’t tell Spike.”

For some reason, Jet nodded. Why he suddenly wanted to help Vicious, he couldn’t say, but he suspected his valiant rescue of Ed might have had something to do with it. Vicious sagged against the wall, his ragged breaths loud in the silence of the hold. Jet stood next to him awkwardly, unsure of how to help.

He and Vicious might be on neutral terms now, but Jet still didn’t think it was wise to invade his space any more than he already had. _You don’t pet a wild animal, no matter how friendly it seems._ Not that Vicious was friendly. He was about as warm as ice, and Jet wasn’t going to be the one to try and break it.

Ed, maybe, but Jet would be damned if Vicious was getting within spitting distance of her. There was nothing he could do about Ein, but he figured the dog was smart enough to make his own decisions. _Or dumb enough not to know any better._

As if sensing Jet’s thoughts, Ein trotted back into the hold and straight up to Vicious, tail wagging. Ed wasn’t far behind, but Jet moved to intercept her. It was then that they all heard footsteps on the ramp, and Ed ran to see who it was.

“FAYE-FAYE!” she screamed, and Jet groaned, plugging his ears. He loved Ed, but he’d forgotten how loud she could be. Ein sat on the floor, licking at Vicious’ boot. He took a deep breath, gathering himself, before straightening up. He was still propped against the wall, but to anyone that hadn’t just witnessed him almost collapse, it looked more casual than necessary. Jet glanced at him and mimed zipping his lips. Vicious just gave him that same dead-eyed stare. _Not a big joker, this guy._

Faye’s voice floated back up to them, a little bit hopeful, but mostly confused.

“Ed?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand now we're all caught up. What's going on with Vicious, and will Spike find out? Also, the Bebop crew is back together! Hooray!
> 
> Again, sorry for updating much later than normal, I just could not get the plot of this chapter nailed down for the longest time, and writing Ed was a lot harder than I anticipated. Her speech patterns are so specific yet so varied, it was definitely a big challenge. Still, hope you guys liked it!
> 
> Back to Spike next chapter, how's he dealing with that fiasco of an almost-kiss? (Hint: not well)


	19. Words That We Couldn't Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike and Vicious talk. Spike and Faye do something that doesn't require words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> little warning/spoiler; gets the teensiest bit NSFW ;)
> 
> Loved writing this chapter, especially after I struggled so much with the last one, I felt like this just flowed out of my brain. Like I said earlier, very excited about this one, so crack on!

Spike hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep until he woke up to the sound of his door opening. He sat up groggily, wondering if Vicious had finally discovered the couch in the hold was actually a torture device, and was sneaking in to sleep in a real bed. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d shared a bed, but Spike was a kicker, and a blanket hog, so Vicious usually ended up falling onto the floor and freezing his ass off.

So when they’d all gone to sleep for the night, he’d declined Spike’s offer to bunk together, and crashed on the couch. He’d fallen asleep not a minute later, just like Spike knew he would. When they were younger, he would toss and turn for hours, and would even sometimes get up in the middle of the night, but ever since the coma, he could knock out no problem. Spike had first thought it was a good thing, but now he was starting to get worried.

When he and Faye had gotten back that evening, after Ed had jumped around him screaming for a few minutes, and Ein had sniffed thoroughly at his crotch, he was finally able to make his way over to Vicious, who was leaning irritably against the wall.

“You look terrible,” Spike said.

“I almost got blown up.”

Spike raised an eyebrow, and Vicious recounted what had happened. “Our source was a double agent, then.”

Vicious nodded. “Should’ve known he was a rat.”

“Well, they’ve obviously relocated, because I got a report yesterday that they’re still selling in Tharsis. They must still be manufacturing it somewhere.”

“Any ideas on how we can find out?”

Earlier in the day, Spike would have said no, but now, with Ed here… “Maybe. But Jet’s not gonna like it.”

Vicious crossed his arms. “Seems like Jet doesn’t like anything.”

“Coming from you.”

“I like the dog.”

“You do?”

Jet walked past the pair of them and nodded. “Ein’s really taken to him, but he always has been a lousy judge of character.” He winked and headed into the control room.

_What the fuck?_

“Are you guys friends now?” Spike asked, baffled. Last time he checked, Jet wanted to push Vicious off a moving train.

Vicious shrugged, and Spike let it be. They had other things to deal with. “You still up for a raid, when we find the new spot?”

“Have to be. Can’t afford to waste time with backup now, not when they know we’re on their trail.”

Spike agreed, but he couldn’t help but worry if Vicious would be able to fight. He was leaning a little too heavily against the wall, and Spike suspected he was more banged up than he let on. Still, he knew Vicious would rather cut off his nose than admit he was hurt, so he didn’t push the issue.

He managed to corner Ed a few minutes later and corral her back into the hold. She bounced down next to Vicious, who was now curled up on the couch, half-asleep. “Friend-person,” she said happily. Spike just shook his head. Yet another strange change in the universe. It seemed that everyone on the Bebop was having an eventful day, not just him.

And Jesus, was he having a time. He’d been having the best sleep he’d gotten in ages, and then woken up to the best sight he’d seen in ages, and then was about to have the best kiss he’d had in ages… _and then Faye said the worst thing I’ve heard in ages._ He scowled bitterly at the memory; the way he’d felt absolutely disgusted when she’d said it.

That she would bring up Julia like that, when his guard was down, hurt him more deeply than he’d first thought. It came in two parts, his guilt from moving on, and his disappointment in Faye. _How can you be jealous of a dead woman? Why can’t you just let her be?_

He kept going back to Julia’s picture, how Faye had been looking at it. Her face, when he’d caught her, had said everything. And he’d hated it, the way she was so clearly comparing herself to Julia, when he’d never wanted, or asked her to in the first place. He didn’t want Faye to be Julia; it wasn’t fair to either woman. But Faye couldn’t seem to get that he wanted her, wanted her _bad_ , just as she was. It frustrated him, and he didn’t know how to make her understand.

Faye seemed to be angry too, given the way she stomped off to her room after saying a cursory hello to Ed.

Ed now squinted up at Spike as he explained what he wanted her to do, and gave her all the information he could remember about their rogue Red Eye manufacturer. Vicious hadn’t bothered to chime in, so he figured he hadn’t missed anything important. “So, Ed,” he asked. “Do you think you can find them?”

Ed grinned at him and wiggled her fingers before tumbling off the couch and racing out of the room. Spike groaned; he’d forgotten how spacey she was. Jet came out of the control room and leaned against the doorframe. “She’ll be back, she’s just going to find her computer.”

“What’s wrong with the one on deck?”

Jet frowned and crossed his arms. “Vicious stabbed it.”

Spike quirked an eyebrow at Vicious, who just shrugged, eyes still closed. “Thought that would fix it.”

Spike smirked; it reminded him of the time he’d broken that little weirdo’s tape player. He wondered if Jet still got calls from the guy. Jet, for his part, rolled his eyes. “You getting her to track your plant?”

Spike nodded, steeling for a fight, but Jet didn’t seem upset. “Okay. I’ll put the coordinates in once she gets them. But she’s not going anywhere near that when we land.”

“Don’t worry,” Spike said, shaking his head, “this is just a two-man op, in and out. Vicious and I will go, and we’ll be back in time for dinner.”

“Bell peppers and beef, right?”

“Ah, Jet, you know me so well.” They grinned at one another, and Spike felt a familiar warmth spreading through his chest. _Just like old times._

Ed zoomed back into the hold, computer held high over her head. She crashed back down next to Vicious, who didn’t even flinch. _He must be out._ Spike figured he was running on fumes, but he still didn’t like that he was sleeping so much.

Ed was already clicking away at her keyboard, goggles on and humming nonsense as she surfed the techno-waves or whatever it was she did. Spike had never understood it; the extent of his computer knowledge stopped at hitting it when it froze up. That usually worked, and when it didn’t, he would just hit it harder. _Maybe I should try stabbing next time…_

They all sat in silence for the next half hour, watching Ed work, and Vicious sleep.

Suddenly, Ed sat up and took off her goggles. “Red Eye 2, I found you!” she crowed.

Jet crossed the room to look over her shoulder. “That’s great, Ed. Where are they?”

She tapped excitedly at the screen. “Titan!”

Vicious’ eyes snapped open.

Ed and Jet, too absorbed with the computer, didn’t notice, but Spike did, and he frowned. Titan was a black hole where Vicious was concerned, and Spike didn’t like that at all. He needed Vicious at his best for this raid, and he didn’t want any past history to get in the way. _If only I knew what that history was._ Gren sprang to mind, mysterious and undefined as ever.

He debated trying to press Vicious about it later, but he also worried it might make things worse. He didn’t know what to do, so he decided to just do nothing. _A Spike Spiegel classic._

Jet looked over the screen at Spike. “So, we’re going to Titan?”

Spike glanced back at Vicious. His eyes were closed again, his face determinedly blank. “Seems like it.”

They’d all drifted off to sleep after that, Jet punching in a course for Titan and getting the Bebop into hyperspace once again. Spike, after Vicious had decided to stay on the couch, stumbled off to his room, feeling drained. When he’d collapsed into bed, he’d doubted he’d get any sleep, because his mind was spinning a mile a minute. Thinking about Faye, Jet, Vicious…the Dragon, Ed…Titan…

Despite what he thought, he had managed to fall asleep, because now his door was creaking open, and he was awake again. A shadow darkened his doorway, but it wasn’t Vicious.

It was Faye.

Spike’s breath caught, and he stared at her, speechless, as she slipped into the room, shutting the door softly behind her. She padded over to his bed, not saying a word, and climbed in to sit next to him.

“Faye, what are you…” he whispered, but she reached out and put a finger to his lips. He shut up immediately, staring at her with wide eyes. She traced the outline of his mouth, and then ran her fingertips over his jaw. His eyes fluttered closed as her hand cupped his cheek, and he leaned into her palm. He felt her breath, warm against his neck. Her lips followed an instant later, trailing soft kisses slowly up the side of his face.

He opened his eyes again, and Faye was staring at him, hesitating, her lips hovering over his. She was looking at him with such desire, and so hopefully, that any thoughts of their fight rushed out of his mind.

He leaned forward and kissed her gently. Spike felt like his brain was short-circuiting. _I’m kissing Faye Valentine, and she’s kissing me back._ She drew back and looked at him, before nodding once. And that was all he needed to kiss her again, tangling his hands in her hair and pulling her onto his lap.

Faye was giving as good as she got, and Spike swore he saw stars when her hands _(oh, Jesus Christ, her hands)_ started roaming, running through his hair, over his chest, then moving down, down, down. He almost blacked out when one of her hands dipped beneath his waistband, and he felt her smirk against his lips.

Everything, everywhere, was _Faye._ Every sensation, every kiss, every caress, sent his head spinning. It was all he could to do kiss her back, and a particularly good touch made him throw his head back against the pillow with a low groan. He blushed instantly, but Faye just smirked again and leaned down to recapture his lips with hers. He surged upward, ready to take matters into his own hands, literally, but she dodged coyly, turning her head to kiss the underside of his jaw.

Her hips rolled against his, and he went rigid, trying to control himself. _God, what is she doing to me?_ Whatever it was, he didn’t want it to stop, but at this rate, he’d be finished in the next thirty seconds. He had to do something, or it was going to get really awkward, not to mention pathetic, really quickly.

Faye yelped as he flipped them over, her hands coming to rest above her head. She looked at him the same way she had the other night, but this time, Spike could do something about it. And he did, his own hands now skimming over the contours of her body. He kissed her skin slowly, moving down, down… _down_. He paused to grin at the gasp she made. Then, she started letting out these breathy little moans, and he thought he’d just come right there. He felt her hands tugging on his hair, trying to bring him back up to her. He complied, and she pulled him down for another kiss. Their bodies were pressed against each other, his heavy breaths mingling with her own. It was heaven.

Faye broke the kiss, and leaned up to murmur in his ear for the first time that night. Spike tensed, wondering what she would say. Was she having second thoughts? _Oh God, what if she thinks I’m bad at this?_

But what she actually whispered was so much worse.

_“Bet you never did this with Julia.”_

Spike jerked awake. He took a shuddering breath as he sat up, pressing his face into his hands. _Just a dream._ He felt drool at the corner of his mouth, and he rubbed it away, embarrassed. He felt even more embarrassed when he realized he was still hard. _Just a fucking dream._

His door burst open and Ed leapt into the room. Spike scrambled to cover himself, but Ed didn’t even notice.

“Friend-person is yelling,” she said seriously, frowning. “Ed tried to help, but Friend-person keeps moving-grooving.”

Spike scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. Of course Vicious was causing an uproar; it had only been a matter of time. “I’ll handle it, Ed. Thanks.” She stood there for a moment, and Spike sat in his bed awkwardly, waiting for her to leave so he could sort out his, uh, situation. She was looking at him expectantly. He gave her a thumbs up. “Really, Ed, I got it. Go back to sleep.”

She shook her head. “Friend-person is too loud. Ed can’t sleep outside.”

“Go to Faye’s room, then. I’m sure she’d love to share with you.” Ed’s eyes lit up, and she tore out of his room before he even blinked. Spike heard Faye’s door open and close, and could only imagine the protests that would follow. _Well, Faye can’t hate me any more than she already does._

He fell back against the pillow and exhaled. He felt his eyes slip closed. The bed was so soft…and he’d been so warm…

Spike bolted upright. Ed had left his door wide open, and he could now hear what it must have blocked out earlier.

Vicious, screaming like he was being flayed alive.

Spike jumped out of bed and sprinted down the hall, not bothering to put on a shirt or even socks. His feet burned against the freezing floor grates, but he reached the hold in record time to find Vicious, still dead asleep on the couch.

He was, as Ed put it, “moving-grooving,” tossing and turning like he used too, and swinging his hands dangerously at invisible enemies. Spike recognized the motions, complicated sword attacks that no doubt would be killing whoever he was dream-fighting. But back on the physical plane, his hands were more of an occupational hazard. Spike didn’t fault Ed for passing the job off to him, he figured he’d probably get socked a couple times before he could wake Vicious up.

This had happened before, when he got back from Titan, and it didn’t surprise Spike that it was happening now, not when they were on their way to that very planet. The first time, he’d been on a stakeout with Vicious, and had to stuff a rag in his mouth to keep their cover. It had happened twice after that, and Spike remembered Julia telling him, in those strange weeks when Vicious was back but hadn’t yet caught them, that it had happened a few times with her as well. He wouldn’t talk with either of them about it though; he would just roll over and go back to sleep, or sit up the rest of the night, staring out at the stars.

That was the first time Spike had felt their disconnect, like Vicious was slipping away from him for good. It was a combination of things, his betrayal with Julia, Vicious’ newfound secrecy, and their diverging aspirations, that cracked their friendship in half. Spike found it easier to justify his relationship with Julia after that, because Vicious just kept getting crueler, and colder, and eventually, he stopped screaming.

Spike had always wondered if that was a good thing or not. If the screams had been out of fear or guilt. Or maybe a little bit of both.

Taking a breath, Spike stepped into range of Vicious’ flailing hands and shouted his name. As he predicted, he got hit pretty hard in the chest before he managed to catch Vicious’ wrists and hold them steady. Vicious, still asleep, twisted beneath him, growling. He started screaming again, louder than before, so Spike clapped a hand over his mouth.

Big mistake. He’d forgotten Vicious was a biter by nature, and he didn’t hesitate to sink his teeth into the palm of Spike’s hand. Spike swore, jerking back, and Vicious wriggled free from his grip. He thrashed around wildly, and Spike didn’t know what else to do, so he just flung himself on top of Vicious and hoped for the best. They struggled for a moment, and Spike debated on just punching him right in the face, but he managed to finally get him in a vise grip from behind, pinning his arms to his sides.

“Vicious!” Spike shouted again, but he was screaming too loudly to hear. At this rate, he’d wake up the whole ship, closed doors or not, and Spike was loath to have this become a shared experience.

As a last resort, he put Vicious in a headlock and started squeezing, hoping he’d either wake up from the lack of oxygen or just pass out entirely. Seconds later, his body went completely still, his screams cutting off abruptly. But then, he moved, hands coming up to grab at Spike’s forearm, still wrapped loosely around his throat. It was a move Spike recognized, one that would have snapped his arm in half if he hadn’t had the good sense to move it in time.

“Hey, stop! It’s me,” he said, annoyed.

Vicious sat up and turned to him. “You were choking me.”

“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t wake up.” Spike pushed himself up to slouch against the side of the couch. Vicious just stared at him. “And you were screaming. Like before.”

Vicious blinked and looked at his hands. “I was?”

“Yeah, it was bad.”

Vicious didn’t say anything to that, and Spike sighed internally. _Why did this have to happen tonight?_ He crossed his arms. “You have to tell me something about it, or I won’t let you come with me tomorrow.”

Vicious jerked his head up, alarmed. “What?”

“I can’t have you cracking up while we’re out there. If you’re watching my back, you have to be on top of your game. And you’re clearly falling off.”

Vicious narrowed his eyes murderously. “I’m not.”

“Then why’d you go alone to the plant today? Why didn’t you wait for me? You would’ve if you’d been thinking straight.”

“I wanted to prove to myself I could do it.” He gripped at the edge of the couch. “And I did.”

“Yeah, and you almost got blown up in the process,” Spike scoffed. “Not to mention what just happened.”

“I’m fine, Spike.”

Spike just sighed and lolled his head back against the couch, waiting.

Vicious took a raspy breath. “On Titan. There was- someone. Who I betrayed.”

“Gren.”

His eyes flicked to Spike’s, surprised. “Yes.”

“I met him, after our fight on Callisto.”

“He lived?” Spike could’ve sworn he detected a note of hope in Vicious’ voice. But that was crazy.

“No. I just towed his ship out to orbit. He wanted to go back to Titan, but I can’t imagine he survived the internal bleeding.”

Vicious was staring fixedly at a spot on the ground, in a way Spike remembered from when they were much younger. It was what he would do to keep his face neutral, to hide the emotions he’d since learned to control.

“So you two knew each other during the war,” he said.

“We were-” Vicious swallowed, “-comrades.”

“And?” Spike pressed.

But Vicious just shook his head, done with talking. Spike had a million questions, but he knew he wouldn’t get any answers tonight. Maybe, in the future, at a time when Vicious’ throat wasn’t raw from screaming at the war’s atrocities. Or at his own.

_Well, I got more than I’ve ever heard before. It’s a start._

“V…” He startled both of them when he said it, the nickname that hadn’t been used since they were teenagers. “You know you can tell me anything. Believe that.” He wanted to say more, but he couldn’t. Silence hung in the air between them, filled with all the words they couldn’t say.

Vicious turned slowly to face him again, reaching out to tap a finger against Spike’s scarred chest, examining his handiwork. He smiled bitterly.

“There is nothing to believe in. You know that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Vicious is finally opening up a bit, but it looks like being with Faye is still just a ~dream~
> 
> Sorry everyone but I had to! RIP if you thought they were actually gonna get together now; not in my slow burn! Also I've never written smut before, so that was an interesting new hurdle. I tried to make it kind of ambiguous, I think anything really explicit didn't quite fit the tone of the fic. Let me know what you guys thought!
> 
> Next chapter is back to Faye. I wonder if she could tell Spike was dreaming about her...


	20. Play It Again, Gren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike gets shot and Faye gets caught (almost).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New update! Just wanted to say thank you again to everyone who's been commenting, I get the biggest grin seeing you guys in my inbox. And to everyone else, thank you for reading! Writing this is so much fun and I'm happy to have all of you along for the ride.

The first thing she noticed was the blood.

The second was Spike, barely conscious, head flopping as he sagged against Vicious. Her heart started racing.

The two had been gone most of the day, leaving after the Bebop had landed on Titan early in morning. Faye didn’t know much about what they were going to do, only that it was dangerous and required stealth, so it was just the two of them.

She knew it had something to do with the Red Eye supplier that had gone rogue, deciding to cross the Dragon and start selling on their own. She’d heard whispers about it at Fantaisie, and speculation about how the Dragon would retaliate. She also knew that they were looking for the supplier’s manufacturing plant, and Vicious had walked into a setup yesterday on Earth, while she and Spike were-

_Don’t think about that. Fuck him._

Honestly, Faye didn’t understand why Spike didn’t just order a squad of ships to blast the plant to hell, but, then again, she wasn’t Head of the Dragon. _Not that I even care about what he’s doing._ She’d missed them leaving anyway, not waking up until mid-afternoon when Jet poked his head into her room and called her name.

“What?” she’d snapped, angry at Jet for disturbing her wake-up routine, which usually involved twenty more minutes of lazing in bed before she actually got up for the day.

“Ed and I are going exploring. Do you want to come?”

She debated. She and Jet did have a good conversation the other night, and she had missed Ed, despite her annoyance at the little twerp crashing in her bed late last night. Plus, spending time with someone that wasn’t Spike might be good for her. “Hmm, maybe,” she said. “Give me a minute.”

Jet had left then, and Faye got ready surprisingly quickly, taking only thirty minutes instead of her usual hour. When she walked out into the hold, Jet was tapping his foot impatiently, while Ed cartwheeled around the room, eager to get outside.

Faye had just shrugged at Jet’s irritation and walked towards the ramp. “Well, don’t keep me waiting.”

Jet grumbled something that sounded a lot like “bitch,” but she didn’t comment. She was too busy looking out at the landscape.

Faye had forgotten that Titan was a dirty, not to mention cold, planet, and her desire to go out into the biting wind and stinging sand had dropped to zero. She turned on her heel and marched to the couch before flinging herself down on it. “Not going, no way. Have fun though.”

Jet grumbled again; this time she definitely heard “bitch.” But Ed had just waved goodbye and zipped down the ramp, so Jet had no choice but to run after her. Ein followed a moment later, barking, and Faye sighed happily. _Peace and quiet._

She was blessedly alone for the next few hours. She spent the time taking a long shower, repainting her nails with some polish she found under her bed, and reading an old magazine she’d left on the table by the couch over two years ago. It was dusty and faded, but the pictures were still interesting, and she had nothing else to do. At least, not until Spike and Vicious made their grand entrance.

Both of them were covered in blood, but the way Spike was draped against Vicious made it clear he was the one who was hurt. From what Faye could see, he was bleeding from his left side, pretty badly. Vicious was holding Spike upright, but he too looked ready to collapse. Faye vaguely recalled the other night, and Jet telling her Vicious had been in a coma for the past two years.

 _His endurance is probably shit._ She felt a stab of satisfaction at that. But then she felt guilty, because that was probably how Spike had gotten hurt in the first place. And she’d promised herself, the next time he was hurt, that she’d be kind.

So she shot up from the couch, trying to put all negative thoughts about Spike, and their terrible interaction yesterday, out of her mind. Now, she was only focused on the blood, and on Spike, tracking the rise and fall of his chest to make sure it didn’t stop.

“What the fuck happened?!” she asked.

Vicious just grunted and tossed his head at Spike. Understanding, she dashed forward to help him, and together they dragged Spike the rest of the way to the couch. They lowered him down as gently as they could, but Spike still let out a dazed groan when Faye jostled his bad side.

“Sorry!” she yelped. “Are you okay? I mean, relatively speaking.”

He just closed his eyes and breathed through his nose. Vicious turned to her.

“Medical supplies.”

Faye blinked. “Uh, Jet has some, I think. I can try to find them.” He nodded at her, before turning back to Spike. She raced out of the hold and down the hall to Jet’s room. The kit she’d been thinking of was easy to find, just tucked out of sight under his bed, and she sighed with relief. She grabbed it and sprinted all the way back to the couch, where Vicious had managed to work Spike’s shirt off him and start sopping up excess blood with it.

Faye handed him the kit, panting. “Do you know how to use all this stuff?”

“Better than you.”

_Fair point._

“What happened?” she asked again.

“He got shot. I have to get the bullet out.”

Vicious dropped Spike’s shirt, now soaked in red, and stepped back to examine the kit. He nodded in approval, satisfied with whatever he’d found inside. Beyond bandages and rubbing alcohol, Faye couldn’t rightly identify anything in that box. _Thank God for Vicious._ That was something she’d never thought she’d ever think, but looking at Spike, grimacing in pain on the couch, she truly was glad to have Vicious here. Simply put, he seemed to know what he was doing, and she didn’t.

He pulled a few things out of the kit and set them on the floor. Then, he studied Spike for a moment, frowning, before bending down and fumbling with Spike’s belt buckle.

“Um,” Faye said awkwardly, beyond confused. _Now’s not really the time for that._ “What are you doing?”

Vicious pulled the belt free and folded it in half. “It’s either this or he bites off his tongue.” He fixed her with a look, practically rolling his eyes at her perceived stupidity. “Hold his hand.”

“What?”

“Hold it. He needs something to squeeze.”

Faye bit her lip, but complied, taking Spike’s limp hand in her own. It was cold, and she felt sick. _His hands are always warm._

“Spike. Spike.” Vicious was snapping his fingers above Spike, trying to get him to focus. Spike’s eyes just roamed over the ceiling, the blood loss finally kicking in. Vicious scowled, then hauled back and slapped Spike across the face.

Faye wrinkled her nose. “Was that really necessary?”

But Vicious wasn’t listening to her; he was busy shoving the belt into Spike’s open mouth. “Bite down,” he ordered, and Spike, now marginally aware, sunk his teeth into it obediently. Vicious knelt beside him, holding a pointed, shiny instrument that made Faye’s stomach flip just looking at it. _God, I hope I never get shot._

“Okay, cowboy,” Vicious muttered in Spike’s ear. “Here we go.”

Spike didn’t even have time to draw in a breath before Vicious started digging around in his side. He screamed around the belt, the sound muffled but no less agonizing to hear. It made Faye’s heart hurt, and she suddenly felt very bad about being angry with him.

He yelled again, struggling to get away from Vicious and his stabby clamp thing. Vicious growled low in his throat and pinned Spike down with a forearm, the other hand still poking around inside. Faye felt Spike squeeze her hand, _hard,_ and she instinctively tried to pull away.

Spike’s eyes met hers, and he looked so distraught that she froze immediately. He threw his head back, teeth grinding so hard into the belt that Faye swore she heard the leather creak. She spotted tears leaking from the corners of Spike’s eyes, but Vicious showed no signs of letting up, his head buried in the bloody mess that was Spike’s torso. Both wanting to help Spike and avoid any further eye contact with his, frankly, disgusting wound, Faye moved to sit on the floor, reaching out with her free hand to stroke his hair in what she hoped was a soothing manner. Vicious quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.

She studied Vicious as he worked, throwing surreptitious glances at him now and again. She’d only been around him for two days, but she felt constantly on edge. It was impossible to forget their last meeting, when he’d held a blade to her throat and chained her to a wall. So, she really didn’t have the best first impression of him, and he’d done little to change her mind thus far.

Suddenly, Spike’s hand went slack. She whipped her head around to look at him, and he sagged against the couch, unconscious. Her anxiety went into overdrive.

“Vicious?” she panicked. “I think he passed out!”

Vicious didn’t bother to look up, continuing with his makeshift operation. “That’s fine. Probably better this way.”

Faye bit her lip. “Are you sure?”

She knew she was pushing it, asking him questions he clearly had no interest in answering, but she was worried. Besides, he seemed willing to entertain her for the time being, just nodding in assurance that yes, it was okay that Spike’s eyes weren’t open any longer, and it was okay his breathing was very quiet, and it was okay she thought she could feel his heartbeat growing weaker, and it was okay if he died without knowing she was sorry about the other day, it was okay they hadn’t even kissed once, and it was okay she still hadn’t told him that she l-

Vicious grunted in triumph, snapping Faye out of her trance. She shook herself. _Calm down. Spike is going to be fine._ And it seemed that he really would be; Vicious had just found the bullet, finally, and pulled it free. He held it out to her, jagged at the edges and oozing blood.

“You want it?”

Faye’s mouth dropped open. “Why would I want that?” _Is this like the scar? Some guy thing I just don’t understand?_

Vicious shrugged and pocketed the bullet himself. Faye wondered dimly if he was going to give it to Spike later. She watched as he gathered more supplies from the kit, bringing out a needle and thread, along with several yards of gauze, to close up the wound. Faye figured Spike would get another scar out of this, though nothing like the one he already had, courtesy of the very man who was sewing him up now.

Vicious, for his part, had seemed indifferent to the scar, out in the open for all to see, shining like a beacon of his cruelty. Though, Faye reasoned that cruelty seemed to be the only thing Vicious appreciated, or at least understood. She reached out hesitantly, to trace the scar with her fingertips. It felt like it did before, strange and alien, but this time there was no warmth beneath it.

Spike lay perfectly still on the couch, and she wanted nothing more than for him to wake up. She exhaled softly, lifting her hand from his chest to smooth loose strands of hair away from his face.

Vicious spoke, startling her. “So, are you guys a thing.”

Faye hated the way he spoke, phrasing his questions like statements, and so aggressively. It was impossible to tell when he was being threatening or actually attempting casual conversation.

She shrugged. “It’s complicated.”

He snorted. “Always is, with Spike.”

Faye didn’t reply. She was very conscious of the fact that Vicious had known Julia, and had probably seen Spike and Julia together, in love. She wondered if he ever felt as jealous back then as she did now. Probably. She was practically riddled with it, and Julia wasn’t even alive.

She wanted to ask him about her—what she smelled like, what she wore, how she laughed. How she kissed. But then Faye remembered Spike’s face, when she’d ruined their own kiss, and she bit her tongue.

Vicious tilted his head at her. “You know Shin.” She nodded. “Call him. Tell him to get here, with backup.”

“Why can’t you just tell him yourself?” she asked, annoyed. She didn’t want to leave Spike, not right now.

“He hates me.”

Faye smirked at that. _I always did like Shin._ It was kind of funny, the school-boy politics of it all, Shin refusing to do anything Vicious said and Vicious being just as stubborn. She figured Spike must do a lot of mediating, trying to keep the bomb that was Vicious from exploding. She worried what would happen if it did. There would be collateral damage, certainly, and she questioned if she’d be some of it.

Because she and Spike, they were becoming something, there was no denying it. And Vicious excelled at hitting Spike right where it hurt. Hell, he must have known they’d cared about each other even before they did. He’d kidnapped her as a ploy to get to Spike. When it had happened, she hadn’t read into it, assuming she was just an easy target. But now, she wouldn’t put it past Vicious to have made a more calculated move. Spike _had_ come to save her, after all.

And now, she’d be the one to save him, even in this small way. She could keep the peace until he woke up. So she got to her feet, releasing Spike’s hand, and walked down the hall to her room.

She was only gone for a few minutes, getting in touch with Shin easily enough and relaying the message. She neglected to mention that it was an order from Vicious, and evaded the subject of Spike’s current incapacitation. Feigning ignorance about the situation was easy, she didn’t know much to begin with, and Shin seemed too harried to press her for details.

Lola made a brief appearance, her voice chiming in excitedly to reassure Faye that everything at Fantaisie was running smoothly. Faye ended the call quickly, anxious to get back to Spike, but she felt better after hearing their voices.

Returning to the hold, she sank down beside Spike, taking his hand once again. She was pleased to feel some of the warmth had returned, and Vicious seemed to be satisfied as well, finishing up Spike’s stitches. Faye was quietly impressed at his skill; the small, neat line was a far cry from anything she’d be able to pull off.

“How’d he get shot?” she asked, more to make conversation than anything. Not that she necessarily wanted to talk with Vicious, but the silence was getting to her.

“Got sloppy.”

Faye didn’t know if Vicious meant Spike or himself. But she did know that they’d been walking around on Titan, and that had to have meant something, maybe enough for Vicious to let his guard down. Because Titan meant something to someone else they both knew, someone that was now long dead and very far gone.

Up to now, she and Vicious had both been ignoring the elephant in the room. The one that looked and sounded and played the saxophone exactly like Gren. Faye was willing to bet Vicious was thinking about him, and their time on Titan. How could he not? She was, and she hadn’t even been there.

But looking at Vicious now, it was impossible to tell. He was just one big question mark, and Faye had never been a good guesser. She wanted to know what he thought about the past.

She often wondered that about people, even total strangers. How did other people see the past? For the longest time, she’d not been able to remember hers, and it had almost destroyed her. _Could Vicious’ past destroy him?_ _He must feel **something** about it. Anger, sadness, joy. _

_Regret, maybe._ That gave her pause.

To forget the past was one thing, but to regret it, well, that was something else entirely.

Vicious must have sensed her thoughts, because she could feel his eyes boring a hole into the side of her head. She turned to face him, swallowing back fear. _Ask him. You want to know._

“It’s not your fault.” _Not a question, Valentine. And not what you meant to ask._

Vicious raised an eyebrow, but she pressed on. “You fought here, on Titan, right?” He nodded, once. “It’s just that, the war, it affected people. Someone I met told me about it. So if you were upset, coming back here, that’s not your fault. And if Spike got shot over it, I’m sure he understands.”

Faye didn’t even know why she was saying this, trying to reassure Vicious, of all people, but it felt like the right thing to do. Maybe she was just trying to be better, like she’d promised. Maybe she was trying to make peace with the past. Spike’s past, to be exact. And who better embodied his past than Vicious?

“You met him.” Another question, said like a statement. Faye was surprised he’d even asked it. But maybe, he too, was trying to make peace with the past. _Forget or regret?_

Gren, because of course, Vicious was talking about Gren, swam to the forefront of her mind. She thought about everything he’d said in the gentle heat of his apartment. What he’d said about Vicious. And how he’d said it. Bitterly, reverently. Achingly.

Tenderly.

Gren hadn’t told Faye much, but he’d told her enough. Enough to know that he’d been close, or as close as a person could be to someone like Vicious. She opened her mouth, not totally sure of what she was going to say. She was playing with fire, but she surged ahead. He’d asked, after all.

“He, um, he told me things. About you and him. He seemed like he knew you. The real you.”

He was staring straight ahead, his face now even more impossible to read. She debated what he’d just asked, if it really was a question. _Casual conversation?_

_Or threat?_

But it was too late to turn back now. She’d started down this path, for her, for Spike, and most of all, for Gren. Someone had to help him, beyond the grave, someone had to look Vicious right in the eye and make him feel something, anything, about what he’d done to Gren. About what Gren had done for him.

She reached out and gingerly put a hand on his thigh. He swiveled slowly to look at her, and she shivered at the unbridled rage in his eyes. _Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea. Fuck, say something!_

“Look, however you felt about Gren-”

Vicious was on her in a second, one hand grabbing her wrist and twisting it away from his leg as he stood, the other coming to clamp around her neck, squeezing, and squeezing hard. He towered over her, incensed, covered in blood, and she felt like she might actually shit her pants in fear.

“If you ever say that name again,” he snarled, “I’ll slit your fucking throat.”

Faye sputtered at him, stunned. Despite what he said, she wasn’t sure he wouldn’t just kill her here and now. He certainly could, the way he was looking at her, practically throbbing with murderous intent.

But Vicious just growled and released her, point made. He stalked out of the hold, blending into the deep shadows that now stretched across the Bebop. Faye gasped and gulped at the air, trying to process what had just happened. Because it had terrified her, in a way that she hadn’t been in years. And honestly, if it wasn’t for Spike’s hand in hers, she would’ve left the Bebop that instant and not looked back.

 _It’s getting late, where the hell are Jet and Ed?_ Faye was vaguely concerned; the sun had set, and she doubted they were planning to spend the night elsewhere. Besides, she really wanted to have someone else on the ship with her now. Hell, she’d even take Ein, anyone that could act as a buffer between her and Vicious.

The way that he’d reacted, when she said Gren’s name, he was like a lunatic. She’d often wondered, after those few hours with Gren, what had really happened between them. It seemed like she’d never get an answer now.

Gren had died, and she mourned him, in her own small way, thinking of him whenever she heard a saxophone. She hoped he’d found what he’d been seeking; that Vicious gave him the answers he’d been willing to die for. But somehow, seeing Vicious’ face a moment ago, so full of hate and anger, she doubted he did.

She sighed and stood, taking in the bloody mess Vicious had left behind. Normally, it would gross her out, but this was Spike, and she’d sworn to be better this time.

She spent the next hour cleaning—throwing away discarded bandages and gauze, reorganizing Jet’s kit, even wiping up the blood splashed along the floor. Making sure Spike was still passed out, she took the kit and walked it back to Jet’s room, returning it to its place under his bed.

Faye looked down at her hands, covered in red, and spent the next ten minutes scrubbing them in the bathroom. She felt queasy at the sight of it, not because it was blood, but because it was Spike’s blood. She’d been so angry with him just a few hours ago, but now, after everything, all she felt was regret at fighting with him in the first place, and relief that he was okay.

She dried her hands, finally clean, and stepped out of the bathroom. Walking back down the hall, she was seized by an impulse to check on Vicious. She needed to know where he was, and what he was doing. _I let my guard down earlier; I need to keep an eye on him now._

She found him in Spike’s room, asleep on the bed, still covered in blood. She frowned. _He doesn’t even sleep normally._ He was curled in a tight ball, twisted and stiff, his mouth etched in a perpetual scowl. Faye wondered if he ever truly relaxed.

She noticed his hand, resting near the pillow, was covering something. A piece of paper, maybe, but it was hard to tell. She stepped into the room to get a closer look.

_What the hell am I doing?_

But Faye ignored the warning voice in her head, as she often did, and just crept towards the bed, until she was standing over him. She reached slowly, silently, for his hand, hoping to shift it so she could see what lay underneath. But just as she got close enough, Vicious grunted, limbs twitching as he curled tighter in on himself.

Faye didn’t hesitate, moving as quickly and quietly as she could out of the room. She peeked back in through the doorway. Thankfully, he hadn’t woken up, but Faye wasn’t anxious to try again. Her curiosity had vanished in the face of another potential confrontation with Vicious. She’d thought, foolishly, that maybe he wanted to open up, to make, if not friends, at least not enemies. But she was obviously mistaken.

She walked back down the hall, thinking once again of Gren, what he’d said about Vicious.

_He said he didn’t need comrades._

_But I’m attracted to that word. To the point of tears._

Reentering the hold, she sat in the chair across from the couch, leaning back and closing her eyes. Gren had been a friend to her, even if it was just for a short time, and one that had ended with him tying her up. He and Vicious were alike that way, she supposed, infinitely suspicious and willing to do whatever it took to get what they wanted. Even if it meant betraying a friend.

Especially if it meant betraying a friend.

Loyalty, in whatever quantity, had ceased to have any meaning the moment they left Titan.

Still, she had needed Gren in that moment, just as he had needed her. And there was always something to be said about being needed together. Faye found herself humming in the quiet of the hold, the song she’d first heard Gren play, in that smoky old bar. She’d never heard anything like it before, and hadn’t since.

She opened her eyes to see Spike staring at her. She felt a shiver of happiness at how he looked at her, like she was just what he needed to see. He was just what she needed to see, too. _Being needed together._

“You’re finally up, huh?” she said softly.

He just smiled, and motioned for her to come close. She did, bending down so he could whisper fondly in her ear.

“You sing offkey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, shit, seems like the old Vicious might be resurfacing. What will this mean for the rest of the Bebop crew?
> 
> Also, side note, I am going to expand on what exactly happened on Titan. I just didn't think it would be realistic for Vicious to tell Faye about it, and I wanted to stick with the structural flow of the story, so Faye's chapter had to come first. But don't worry, all will be revealed!
> 
> Next update will be Jet's chapter, hopefully it doesn't take as long as the last one, lol. I would give you a little sneak peek of the plot but I don't rightly know myself. We'll all just have to wait and see what I come up with!


	21. Black Dog, Blue Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jet can't let go. Even when everything, and everyone, is begging him to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter. I'm not totally sure how I feel about this one, I think it's a little disjointed, but also necessary. Either way, read on!

When Jet and Ed got back to the Bebop, finally, he was really surprised. Not because Spike was lying on the couch with fresh bullet hole in his side, but because Faye was sitting next to him, holding his hand and singing. Actually singing, with real words, and Jet had never seen anything stranger. _Maybe they did get together._

Just yesterday, after they’d come back from wherever they’d been on Earth, they’d been fuming. Well, Faye was angry; Spike just looked miserable. So naturally, Jet had assumed the worst. But now, everything seemed fine between them, better even. They were holding hands, and staring into each other’s eyes like love-sick idiots, and if it hadn’t been such a long time coming, Jet would’ve thrown up.

Because, as it happened, he’d been waiting for this. Well, maybe not _this,_ exactly, but they’d finally stopped fighting, and that was enough for him.

He and Ed had been out the whole afternoon and half the evening; he’d only been able to lure her back to the ship with the promise of some hot noodles and an extra helping of mushrooms. Jet hadn’t been able to eat mushrooms since that time they all tripped balls, but Ed still seemed to like them.

Their exploration had been largely uneventful. Titan was a boring planet, in Jet’s opinion, mostly sand and the occasional rocky overhang. He was hoping to see some remnants of the war, maybe an abandoned trench or two, but the sand had either covered everything up or blown it away.

Ed, however, loved it. Everything was worth examining, and Jet could’ve sworn she pocketed about thirty handfuls of sand. He groaned thinking about having to clean it up; no doubt she’d spread it all over the Bebop by the end of tomorrow. Ein seemed to agree with Jet. After an hour or so, he started barking, irritated by the sand. Jet had just picked him up and carried him the rest of the time. Something he would normally grumble at, but he hadn’t seen Ein in two years, and he’d missed that dog. Even if he did drool on the couch when he slept.

But Spike did that too, so it balanced out.

It was only on the way back, when Jet took them on what he thought was a shortcut, that they spotted something of note. Jet hadn’t seen it at first, too busy thinking that the shortcut was actually just the longer way around. _Everything on this damn planet looks the same._ Ed had raced ahead of him, and he had to sprint after her.

“Ed, wait up!” She just laughed that silly laugh of hers and kept running. Jet tried a different tactic. “Ed, hang on! Remember the factory!”

That got her attention, at least enough that she slowed to a walk. Jet caught up a few seconds later and they made their way much more cautiously to the mysterious structure before them. When they got close enough, Jet realized it was a ship, abandoned a long time ago.

It wasn’t a big ship, only a zip craft, half-buried in the sand. Jet could make out two paint-stripped wings and a shattered cockpit. The whole thing was battered, and Jet’s detective instincts told him it wasn’t just from a crash landing. _This thing was in a fight._

He also clocked the sand around the crash, and held an arm out to stop Ed. She bumped into it and paused, looking up at him curiously. Jet had seen footprints, fresh ones. The winds of Titan were so strong, most tracks were blown away only a few moments after they’d been made. But these prints, at the base of the ship, had been preserved, sheltered from the wind by the ship’s wings.

There were only two, facing away. Jet shivered. It looked like the pilot had climbed out and walked away. But that was impossible, because the ship had obviously crashed here long ago.

And the pilot, Jet realized, was still in the cockpit.

“Ed. Stay right here.” He handed Ein over to her, and she nodded silently. Jet frowned; Ed was normally loud and bubbly, but these past two days, she’d been much quieter. Not all the time, but enough for Jet to notice. He wondered, not for the first time, what had happened to her in those two years on Earth.

He approached the ship slowly, hoping that Ed was too far away to see what he was seeing. The pilot, or what was left of him, sat in the cockpit. The body, well, the skeleton, was slumped in the pilot’s chair, hands resting on its lap. Like it was waiting for something, or someone. Jet half-expected it to turn and look at him, but it just stayed as it was, empty eye sockets pointing eerily up to the sky.

Save a few tattered rags, which Jet assumed must have been the pilot’s clothes, there was nothing in the ship to identify the body. Not that Jet would even know them, but still. _Rites of the dead._

So Jet just sighed and turned on his heel. The footprints, still mysterious, would remain just that. A mystery. The sun had almost fully set, and they needed to get back. No use trying to get answers from a dead man, especially not from one Jet didn’t even know. _Forget the past,_ he thought. _Every man is tied to a star._ He wondered which star went out, when this man died, and if anyone had cared enough to notice. He hoped so.

But all thoughts of the dead pilot went out the window when he saw Spike and Faye. Her singing, whatever song it was, was a bit offkey for Jet’s taste, but Spike seemed to like it just fine. Jet almost felt bad, ruining their moment like this.

But when Ed clattered by them, Ein still in her arms, they didn’t even flinch. Jet had been expecting them to jump apart, or start making up excuses, but both of them just looked at him calmy as he approached. They were still holding hands, he noticed.

“Hey Jet,” Spike said casually, like he wasn’t lying bloodied on the couch and holding hands with Faye fucking Valentine.

“Yeah, hey Jet,” Faye said nonchalantly, like she wasn’t just singing a moment ago and holding hands with Spike fucking Spiegel.

They looked at Jet expectantly. “Hey…you two.” He shuffled awkwardly. “Is this a new development, or…”

Ed sped back into the hold, Ein at her heels. “Friend-person is in the shower.”

Jet sighed. “We have more than one, Ed. I’m sure the others are free, if you want to take one.”

But Ed just shook her head, bouncing in place. “Friend-person is stuck in the shower.”

“What?” Spike tried to sit up, wincing. Faye chided him, and gently pushed at his shoulder. Jet stared at them, still not used to seeing them act civil to each other, much less act like they liked one another. And Faye being nurturing, that was the weirdest thing of all. Spike sat up again, more slowly, Faye supporting him.

“Ed,” he said with a grimace, “what do you mean Vicious is stuck in the shower?”

“Won’t come out, won’t come up. Stuck!”

Spike pinched the bridge of his nose, and Jet smiled. _Ed-speak._

Ed grinned slyly. “Friend-person is _naked._ ”

Jet’s smile vanished. “Edward!”

But she just laughed and danced out of reach. “Naked, naked, naked!” she sang, and Jet flushed.

Spike looked at Faye, and she helped him stand. It was strange, but nice to see, the way they could communicate without words now. Someone else to look after Spike, and someone else to give Faye a sense of belonging.

“Hey, Jet, do you think you could, ah…” Spike glanced at his side, and Jet understood. He was in no position to wrangle Vicious alone, whatever that entailed. And though seeing Vicious naked was about the last thing Jet ever wanted to do, it was a better alternative than Ed going back in. So he just nodded and moved to take Faye’s place, Spike leaning heavily on his shoulder.

“Faye,” he said, “can you keep Ed occupied?” He was half expecting her to protest, but it seemed she wanted nothing to do with Vicious either.

“Ed,” she called singsongingly, “want to paint my nails?” Ed cheered and ran up to Faye, tugging on her hand.

“Come on, Faye-Faye!”

Faye shot a glare at Jet. “You owe me.” She glanced at Spike, then back to Jet, her gaze softening. “Take care of him.”

Jet waved her away, and Faye let herself be pulled out of the hold towards her room, where Jet knew she kept a stash of makeup at all times. He could hear Ed laughing all the way, no doubt talking Faye’s ear off. That was good. Faye may act annoyed, but Jet knew she’d missed Ed almost as much as he had. Ein had elected to stay behind, flopping down on the couch to nap.

Jet readjusted his grip on Spike, mindful of his injured side. “You good?”

Spike nodded. “Hardly the worst I’ve had.”

 _Yeah,_ Jet thought, _the worst is right there, on your chest._

They made their slow and clunky way to the bathroom, Spike trying and failing to hide his discomfort. He hissed as they went up the steps, and Jet noticed the faintest bit of red seeping through his bandages.

“Sorry, bud,” he said. “You know, you shouldn’t even be moving right now. You got shot, right?”

“Yeah.” Jet threw him a look, point proven, but Spike just shrugged. “You want to deal with Vicious by yourself?”

_He’s got me there._

They got to the bathroom, finally, the door standing open from when Ed had gone in. The shower was running and the curtain was pulled closed. Jet tried to make out a shadow, but he couldn’t see anything. Spike disentangled himself from Jet’s hold, but Jet hesitated.

Man, he really didn’t want to do this.

But Spike was already hobbling inside, one hand pressed against the wall for support.

“Hey, Vicious,” he called. There was no response.

“Vicious,” Spike called again, louder. Still nothing. With a glance at Jet, he reached out and pulled open the curtain.

Vicious was sitting on the floor of the shower, arms locked around his knees. The water poured down over him, but he didn’t seem to notice. His hair was plastered against his back, the water darkening his silver waves to an ashy gray. Blood, or the remnants of it, ran down Vicious’ hands and swirled in red pools at his feet. Spike’s blood, no doubt, but maybe someone else’s as well.

“Vicious.” Spike tried to lower himself to the ground, but he stumbled, foot skidding over the damp floor. Jet lurched forward, catching Spike at the last moment. He managed to break Spike’s fall, but he still went down hard, and Jet could hear his strangled groan.

“Dammit, Spike,” he muttered. “Be careful.”

Spike just exhaled and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the pain to pass. It did, and he opened his eyes again. Vicious, if he’d heard them, gave no indication, only stared blankly at the water circling the drain.

“What’s wrong with him?” Jet whispered, but Spike just shook his head.

“He hasn’t been right since the coma. And coming here didn’t help.” He reached out tentatively, hissing when his hand made contact with the water.

“What?” Jet asked, worried. “Is it hot?”

“No, it’s fucking freezing.”

Jet wondered how long Vicious had been here, for the hot water to run out. Upwards of an hour, maybe. But why?

Spike prodded Vicious gently. Jet was expecting Vicious to break Spike’s hand, or at the very least jump out of his skin, but he just blinked a few times before turning slowly to look at Spike.

“Hey.”

“Uh, hey. What are you doing?” Spike asked. Vicious looked around, as if just realizing where he was.

“Needed to shower.” He pointed at the drain, still swirling red. “Blood.”

Jet felt like he shouldn’t be here, witnessing this. It was something very private, and very strange.

Vicious, unraveling.

Spike nodded and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, okay. You know how long you’ve been here?”

Vicious just stared at him, like he didn’t know anything was wrong. “Just got in.”

“Hmm, right.” Spike was using a voice Jet had never heard before, like he was talking to a shock victim. _Maybe he is._ “Why are you on the floor?”

Vicious tilted his head, his hair swinging forward in a wet curtain to obscure his face. “Don’t know.”

Spike’s mouth twisted, but he didn’t comment. Jet cleared his throat. “Well, we don’t want to keep you, just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Vicious swiveled to look at Jet. He was expecting to see that simmering rage, but only got an empty stare. “I’m fine.”

 _Not one person in this room believes that._ But Jet just flashed an awkward grin, moving to lift Spike to his feet. “We’ll be going then.”

He pulled the curtain closed, and they shuffled out of the bathroom. As Jet shut the door, he was relieved to make out Vicious’ shadow, standing. He seemed to be aware, at least, now. Jet didn’t think he could handle going back in again. Seeing that had freaked him out more than the skeleton.

Spike just limped along, mouth set in a hard line. Like usual, it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. “Can we stop at my room?” he asked. Jet didn’t respond, just adjusted their course. They made it to Spike’s room fairly quickly, and he sat down heavily on the bed. Jet stood over him, unsure of what to do next.

But Spike just waved him off, moving to crawl underneath the covers. “Hey Jet, thanks for your help.”

“No problem, pal.”

“Also, I don’t think I told you, but Shin’s coming tomorrow with some of the Dragon guys. So, if it’s alright with you, I want to just stay grounded for the night.”

Jet was taken aback. _If it’s alright with you._ Spike was asking his permission. Well, maybe it was only a courtesy, but it was one that he hadn’t extended to Jet in a long time. So Jet agreed happily. Besides, who knew if Ed wanted to get more sand samples tomorrow?

Spike settled in, eyes slipping closed. Jet could only imagine how exhausted he was. Jet switched off the light and opened the door. Spike’s eyes popped back open, and he called out. “Hey Jet!”

Jet turned expectantly. “Can you, uh,” Spike’s face, half-hidden in the shadows, still shone bright red. “Can you tell Faye I said goodnight?”

Jet grinned. “Sure thing, Spike-o.” He shut the door with a chuckle and walked down the hall.

He poked his head into Faye’s room, but she and Ed were already asleep, mouths open and limbs tangled, the blankets pushed in a heap to the bottom of the bed. Jet smiled at that. _The crew, back together again._ He shut the door softly, and continued down the hallway, lost in thought.

The door to the bathroom burst open, and Vicious almost body-checked him as he stepped out into the hall. Jet startled, and then startled again when he realized Vicious was dripping wet, and still stark naked. _God, why?_ But Vicious didn’t even notice him, only strode away to Spike’s room and slipped inside soundlessly, no doubt to get some clothes.

Jet made his way back to the hold, cheeks burning, and sat next to Ein on the couch. Ein yawned and stretched, looking up at Jet. “What’s the world coming to, Ein?” he asked. But Ein didn’t answer him, only snuggled close against his side and fell asleep. It wasn’t long before Jet followed, the Bebop softly whirring beneath them.

* * *

He woke up the next morning to a banging sound, loud and incessant. He got to his feet grumbling, and went to lower the ramp. He assumed, correctly, that Shin and his men had arrived. They walked onto the Bebop, Shin smiling good-naturedly when he saw Jet. He strode forward to shake Jet’s hand.

“Good to see you out of the apartment, Jet.”

Jet smirked. “You too, Shin.”

“Seen Spike anywhere?” he asked. “We’re supposed to meet up.”

On cue, Spike walked, well, limped, into the hold, leaning on Vicious. Jet’s eyes widened.

They were both wearing suits, and the matching coats synonymous with the Red Dragon. Not surprising to see on Spike, but very worrying to see on Vicious. Shin clocked it as well, brow furrowing.

“Why’s he wearing that?”

Spike gave a wry smile. “His other clothes are bloody from the raid. Which went pretty well, aside from me getting shot, obviously. But we cleared out most of them; there’s only a few stragglers. They’re hiding out now, but with the rest of you here they won’t stand a chance. We have to move quickly though, they won’t hesitate to trash the place, and we need it intact.”

He turned to look at Vicious, who nodded. “Go in quietly, flush them out. We can’t give them any time to fight back, or we’ll risk damaging the plant. Assemble your men.”

Shin didn’t respond, and Vicious narrowed his eyes. “That’s an order, Shin. Remember, you used to follow them.”

Shin crossed his arms. “Spike’s the Head of the Dragon, Vicious. I don’t take orders from you anymore.”

“You already did.” Shin looked up, confused. “I was the one who called for backup.”

Shin’s mouth dropped open. “No, but- Faye-” He turned red. They all stood in silence for a moment, until Shin gathered himself and looked at Spike expectantly. “So he’s back in? Part of the Dragon?”

“You could say that.” Spike studied Shin, like he was gauging his reaction. Shin, normally so calm and collected, looked furious.

“So we’re just supposed to trust him now? After everything he’s done? Spike, you can’t really expect him to be loyal to you.”

Vicious smirked, his voice full of malice. “Your brother was loyal, Shin. Look what happened to him.”

Shin glowered at Vicious, who just stared back indifferently.

Shin took a step forward, seething, but Spike stepped between them. “That’s enough, Shin.” Shin glanced at Spike, pleading in his eyes. But Spike just shook his head. “That’s enough.”

Shin took a deep breath, exhaling before he turned on his heel and walked back to his men. They stood, huddled in a group, awaiting instructions. Shin began talking to them, no doubt relaying the orders Vicious had just given. Jet was impressed with Shin’s devotion to Spike; at the moment, it seemed to be much stronger than his own.

The noise in the Bebop rose as Shin’s men started talking to each other, moving around and trying to make sense of what they’d just been told. Spike leaned close to Vicious, muttering low enough that only Jet, standing right beside them, could hear.

“I will leave you here. On Titan.”

Jet was also the only one close enough to see Vicious’ eyes flash with something that looked oddly like fear.

“Spike-” he began, but Spike interrupted.

“I fucking will, V. Don’t think I won’t.”

 _V?_ That was one Jet hadn’t heard before. It was bizarre, Vicious having a nickname, like he and Spike were some old high-school buddies horsing around in the locker room. Though Jet supposed they did know each other like that, except their high school had been a crime syndicate and their horsing around probably involved manslaughter.

Vicious just nodded mutely. They both turned to look back at the group, currently trying to organize themselves into some semblance of a unit. Jet just shook his head; these men were better trained for street fighting, not guerilla warfare. Vicious seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he stepped forward and started making corrections. Jet remembered what he’d told him, about serving in the war. He could see Vicious putting that experience to use, rearranging men, explaining attack formations, and delegating tasks.

Spike looked on, and Jet could tell he was impressed. “He’s always been better with the plans.”

“Yet, somehow, you’re the one on top.”

“Came down to the wire on that one.” Jet looked at him questioningly. “Bullets over blades, apparently.” Jet just shook his head; he still didn’t understand.

“It was the strangest thing, Jet. We were fighting, and we hated each other. But in the middle of everything, we got a hold of each other’s weapons. He could’ve picked up my gun and shot me, just like that, and everything would’ve been his. The Dragon, his revenge, my death, all of it. But we switched. We just, gave them back to each other, like it was nothing. Like that was just a mistake we’d made, a cue we’d missed. And then we went right back to killing each other.”

“Sounds a lot like honor to me, Spike.”

“That’s the thing. That’s what I don’t get. He and I, we’ve never lived by a code, not really. In the syndicate, there’s no such thing as morality. Loyalty, maybe, but he and I knew that only got you so far. And any loyalty between us died the moment I first saw Julia…”

He trailed off, still watching Vicious. Jet let the silence stretch on. It wasn’t often that Spike shared what he was thinking, and even less what he was feeling. After a moment, Spike spoke again.

“I mean I hated him—so much—more than I ever had and more than I ever will. And he’s always hated me, at least a little bit.”

“Seems a bit backwards, being friends with someone who hates you.”

Spike shrugged. “Hate’s all he’s ever known.”

_Ain’t that the truth._

Spike spoke again, hesitant. “Hey Jet, can we talk somewhere?”

“Uh, sure. Aren’t we talking now?”

“Yeah, but I meant, like, privately. There’s something I want to tell you.”

Jet just looked at Spike curiously, before helping him walk out of the hold. The noisy chatter of the Red Dragon men faded as they made their way to the control room. Spike leaned against the wall, Jet hovering beside him.

“I’m fine, Jet,” Spike sighed. “I’m not going to fall over.”

Jet scoffed. “Could’ve fooled me. But whatever you say, Spike-o.” He took a step back, giving Spike some space. “What is it you wanted to tell me?”

Spike took a deep breath. “I want Ed to work with me, well, with the Dragon. She’s the smartest kid, hell the smartest person, I’ve ever known, and she’d be damn helpful. She tracked down this plant in less than half an hour; without her, we’d still be chasing our tails on Earth. I mean, the things she can do, I known she’d be really-”

“No,” Jet cut in, crossing his arms. “Absolutely not.”

“Jet,” Spike said tentatively, like he was handling a wounded bear, “I wasn’t asking. Ed can make her own choices.”

“No she can’t! She’s too young, she won’t know what she’s getting into.”

“I was younger than her, when I joined. Besides, I’d protect her, Jet. She wouldn’t be in any danger. All she would do is sit in a room with her computer, just like she does now. Only with us, she’d have regular meals, and a place to stay, not to mention even the tiniest bit of stability.”

“She can have all that with me!” Jet yelled. This conversation was spinning out of control, faster and further than he could comprehend. All he could think was that Ed was going to be taken away. And he couldn’t stand for that, not again.

“Dammit all to hell, Spike, what happened to you? You were never like this, not before. You used to care about people. Maybe not on the surface, but you did, in your own way. You cared about all of us, about Ed, about me, hell, even about Faye. But now you just use people. You’ve used me, over and over and over, and now you want Ed. And what about Faye?”

“What about her?” Spike snapped. Clearly, he didn’t like how the conversation was going either.

Jet stabbed a finger at him accusingly. “Are you just using her too? A replacement, for your precious fucking Julia-”

Spike took a step forward, blindingly fast, and Jet jerked back in surprise. Spike leaned close, right in his face, and his eyes looked murderous. This was a new type of anger, one that scared Jet more than anything he’d seen from Spike before. He was ice cold, deadly quiet.

“Jet,” he said softly, “you have _no_ idea what you’re talking about. If you ever say that shit again. Ever. I swear on my life, I will-”

But whatever Spike had planned to threaten him with went unsaid. He just took a deep breath, and stepped back.

“I’m asking her, and if she says no, then it’s a no. I do care about Ed, and I’ll respect her decision. She can make her own choices, Jet, we all can.”

Jet shook his head fiercely. “Not if you make the wrong ones.”

Spike rubbed at his eyes. “You aren’t Ed’s father, or mine, and you sure as hell are in no position to tell any of us what to do. It’s suffocating, the way you force everyone to comply with what you want, what you think is right. People get hurt, people make mistakes. You can’t control everything. Just let it go, Jet.” He sighed and looked at the floor. _The Black Dog never lets go._

“Let _me_ go,” he mumbled, almost too softly for Jet to hear. He turned on his heel and left, his limping footsteps slowly fading away to silence.

Jet slumped against the console, defeated. He stayed there for God knows how long, in a daze. _Let me go._ That was it, really, all summed up. Spike wasn’t the man Jet knew, and maybe he never had been. Jet had known Spike at a strange time in his life, at a crossroads. Maybe he hadn’t changed, only shifted. The cycle turning over again, and Spike with it. Jet had been wrestling with that ever since that day on the street, and only now did he fully grasp its meaning. Spike, his friend, was still his friend. But Spike, the man, was not the same man he’d come to know.

And Jet felt something in his chest crack at that, at the loss of Spike, however brief he’d been, as the thing Jet had seen. A hero, someone who cared, and someone who loved deeply, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. Spike was still all those things, just not in the way Jet expected him to be. _Let me go._

Jet closed his eyes, took a breath. _In._ Spike, as he was then. _Out._ Spike, as he was now. Not a changed man, just one who flowed like water, mirroring its ebbs and flows.

_Let me go._

_The Black Dog never lets go._

Jet opened his eyes.

_Okay, kid._

_Go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aha. Seems that Jet has finally, FINALLY, started seeing things as they really are. What will this mean for him and Ed? Not to mention him and Spike. And seriously. What the fuck is wrong with Vicious?
> 
> Spike's chapter up next, I haven't decided if the whole chapter will be a flashback to what happened on Titan, or if it'll incorporate some of the present as well. Come back to find out!


	22. These Violent Delights Have Violent Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike reflects on what's happened. And wonders what's going to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with an update! Hopefully you guys don't find this one too confusing, it's sort of a flashback within a flashback within a flashback, but so much stuff has happened since we last talked with Spike that we need his take on things. 
> 
> Also, do I think it's funny for Vicious to be running around ass-naked? I do, I really do.
> 
> On with the story!

Spike reflected that, for the second time in two days, he could have had Faye Valentine in his bed, but instead, he got Vicious.

All because of that damn planet.

Two days ago, they had landed on Titan, and everything seemed to have spiraled from there. Well, maybe not with Faye. In fact, things on that end were actually looking up for once.

But everything else was on fire. Jet, Vicious, hell, even Shin. He couldn’t wait to get back to Mars, to Tharsis, where things made even a little bit of sense. At least there, he could sleep in his own bed.

Which is where they were headed at the moment, hurtling through space in the middle of the night. Spike couldn’t sleep, the itchy burning of his side keeping him occupied. He ran a hand over his bandages, freshly changed, thanks to Vicious. The stitches had held, for the most part, and he seemed to be on the mend.

At least by getting shot, he was back on good terms with Faye. Waking up to her humming, again, was like some cosmic sign. Not that he believed in any of that shit, but still, it was too perfect to be a coincidence. So he’d seized the moment, and she’d grabbed it with him. He’d wanted so badly to kiss her, but his side was on fire and he didn’t think it’d be a good idea. Besides, if they ended up making out like anything in his dream, he’d probably pop his stitches.

Jet’s face walking in had been priceless, and Spike couldn’t resist playing it cool. He didn’t doubt that Jet had expected this a long time ago, hell, he might have even been pulling for it. But then it had all been ruined, thanks to, of course, Vicious.

If Spike had been concerned before, now he was downright anxious. Because he had no idea what was happening to his friend, and it seemed his friend had no idea either. Finding him in the shower had been weird; he hadn’t seemed to know where he was or what he was doing. He’d just looked at Spike with those empty eyes, like nothing was wrong.

And Spike didn’t have the heart to tell him, at least not yet.

Besides, it had been kind of hilarious, the way Vicious had barged into his room afterwards, dick out, acting like it was perfectly normal. Spike had just fallen asleep, but he sat up groggily.

“Vicious?”

Vicious just grunted and stretched out on the floor.

“Ah, hey, Vicious,” Spike tried again. “Did you want to sleep up here? Or, uh, maybe with some clothes on?”

It took a moment for his words to register. Then Vicious froze, and turned red. “Yeah.”

“Yeah to which part?” Spike couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice.

“Both.”

Spike laughed and got out of bed. He started rummaging through his drawer, thanking whatever higher being of the universe that he’d brought more clothes than he normally would. Becoming Head of the Dragon had made him something of a style icon, so sue him if he needed more than a few options.

“What happened to your clothes, by the way?” he asked, pulling out a shirt and pants and tossing them at Vicious.

He caught them, feeling the material in his hands. Spike remembered Vicious appreciated very few things in life, but one of them was soft clothes. He didn’t like being touched, by people or inanimate objects, so the nicer it felt, the better he could handle it. Spike wondered what that said about his psyche.

Vicious, finding the clothes satisfactory, started to pull them on. He waited until he was fully dressed to answer Spike’s question. “They have blood all over them. Your blood.”

“Yeah,” Spike scoffed, “and those twelve guys you gutted at close range.”

Vicious smirked. “Just doing my job.”

“Well, not well enough, because I got shot.”

Spike had meant it as a joke, but Vicious’ face went stonily blank. He climbed into the bed and wedged himself against the wall. Years of being around Spike had taught him sleeping on the edge of the bed would get him kicked off in the middle of the night. Spike sighed and joined him.

“Just a joke, V.”

Vicious only turned towards the wall, curling tightly into a ball of tangled limbs. Spike nudged him with an elbow. “Really. It’s fine. You dragged my ass all the way back here, and it was my fault anyway.”

No response.

Spike wasn’t trying to be nice; it had been his fault. He’d gotten cocky, careless, so caught up in the moment and fighting side by side with Vicious again that he hadn’t seen the guy hiding on the stairs. He only moved after he heard the shot—instinct—but it was an instinct that saved his life. He would’ve been hit straight in the chest, and the bullet lodged itself in his side instead.

He’d collapsed to the floor with a surprised grunt. Vicious whirled at the sound, and Spike had barely raised his own gun to aim at the shooter before Vicious sliced his throat. Spike took care of the other stragglers, picking them off easily as they rushed up the staircase. _Fish in a barrel._

Only minutes before, he and Vicious had snuck in and worked their way up to the top floor of the plant, killing silently as they went. It was more tedious than terrifying, and with Vicious at his side, it felt just like old times. They had walked to the coordinates Ed tracked, not wanting to arouse suspicion with a zip craft. It hadn’t been too far, only about three miles away, but Vicious looked wiped by the time they reached their target.

They were crouched behind some rocks, out of sight of the entrance, when Vicious made to move forward. Spike put a hand on his shoulder and tugged him gently back down. Vicious glanced at him, confused.

“Let’s just, hang on a minute. So you can catch your breath.”

Vicious frowned. “I’m fine.”

But he and Spike both heard the way he was gasping for air as he spoke, and he dropped his head, embarrassed. Spike didn’t say anything, only sat while Vicious tried to gather himself. All his screaming the night before had clearly taken its toll, and Spike knew for a fact he hadn’t slept after that.

It took a few more minutes until Vicious looked over at him and nodded, ready. Then they headed inside to do what they did best.

At least, until Spike got shot.

Then it was time to retreat. Spike hadn’t wanted to, at first; there were still a handful of men left to guard the plant, but Vicious had reasoned that the factory would be worthless if the Head of the Dragon was too dead to operate it.

“I’ll call for backup as soon as we get back to the ship,” he’d said, and Spike had let himself get dragged back out into the stinging wind and sand. He remembered walking for a bit, then his legs giving out and Vicious having to do most of the work. Everything had been tinged with red, and he was trying his best to keep pressure on his side. He remembered the blood, spilling over his fingers and splattering onto the sand. Sitting on the ground, head between his legs, the wind whipping through his hair.

Why had he been sitting?

Spike blinked, a memory surfacing. The sand…underneath him…Vicious…a ship? That couldn’t be right. But…

_Vicious will know._

“What, ah, what happened, by the way, when we stopped?” he asked, hesitant. Wondering if he’d just imagined it. But the longer he thought about it, the more convinced he was. They had stopped. He just didn’t know why.

“Vicious?” he prompted.

Vicious finally turned over and looked at him. “We didn’t stop.”

Spike narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Yes we did, on the way back. You were dragging me along, and then-” he paused, trying to remember it clearly. “Then you sat me down. We- we stopped. I remember sitting in the sand.”

“Spike. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You lost a lot of blood; you were delirious. We didn’t stop.”

Spike flipped onto his good side, wincing, to look Vicious squarely in the face. “Vicious. I know what I saw. We stopped, and there was a ship, or a wreck, or something, and you, I don’t know, you went in.”

Vicious just kept staring at him, and Spike felt like he was going crazy. He _had_ seen it, even though the memory was hazy. He knew they’d stopped, he remembered the sand, oddly cold, as it ran through his fingers. Vicious, walking away from him and approaching the wreck slowly, like it would swallow him whole if he wasn’t careful. And then Spike couldn’t remember anything after that, at least not until Vicious had slapped him back to full consciousness on the couch.

By that point, Faye was there, holding his hand, and that made the pain just a little bit more bearable. But then she’d tried to pull away, and that hurt worse than the bullet.

Still, he’d woken up later to that beautiful moment, so it was worth it in the end, really.

Vicious still hadn’t answered.

Spike tried again. “We stopped. You can tell me anything, remember? V, I just want to-”

“I think about killing you. All the time.”

Spike almost shivered at the way Vicious said it, so openly. Like he was talking about the weather. His eyes stayed on Spike’s, holding him hostage with an icy glare.

“I want you to know that, Spike.”

Spike swallowed, but didn’t look away. Vicious had tried to kill him many times before, and this threat wasn’t enough to scare him. Yet.

“Everyone else too,” he continued. “That little girl, Shin, that cop, your girlfriend, or whatever the fuck she is—all of them. Slicing their throats with my blade. And you, Spike. I think about you most of all. How I’d make you watch as I kill everyone you care about, and then, when it’s finally your turn, tearing you apart with my hands.”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “Why haven’t you already? Killed me, that is.”

“Just waiting for the right moment. A snake’s venom poisons slowly.”

“So you’ve already bitten me?” Spike said.

Vicious just shrugged. His hand darted out, lighting fast, to jab Spike’s injured side. Spike grunted and jerked away. “What the hell, Vicious!”

“The bite, the blade, the bullet—in the world of the beast, it’s all the same.”

Spike was torn between rolling his eyes and trying to blow Vicious’ head off right then and there, but Vicious beat him to it, turning back to the wall and closing his eyes. He whispered low in the silence, as if to himself.

“And you will shed tears of scarlet.”

Spike didn’t even know how to reply to that, much less what the hell it even meant. _Occult shit,_ he thought irritably, before closing his own eyes.

He opened them after what felt like only a few moments, but had probably been a few hours. It was hard to tell, in the dark of the room, but Spike didn’t feel as tired as he had, so he must have gotten some sleep. Vicious was having another nightmare, or flashback, or whatever, twisting in the bed and snarling like an animal.

Spike just sighed wearily and rolled over to shake him awake. Vicious was less violent than last night, but his sharp elbow still managed to catch Spike right on his stitches, and he felt a few of them snap. He wheezed, seeing stars.

Vicious jerked awake, his growls cutting off sharply. He shot up and looked around wildly before seeing Spike next to him, writhing in agony.

“Spike,” he said, embarrassed, reaching out a hand.

Spike groaned and slapped him away, trying to breathe through the pain.

Vicious persisted, peeling back Spike’s bandages and cursing under his breath. “Your stitches popped.” Spike just exhaled and nodded. “Where’s the med kit?”

“Jet’s room,” Spike said tightly. Vicious was gone in a flash, and Spike punched the mattress in frustration, the pain in his side still razor-sharp.

He was annoyed. Annoyed at Vicious for being a stubborn bastard, not to mention a murderous one, and at himself, for being so invested in their friendship in the first place.

 _Seems a bit backwards, being friends with someone who hates you._ Jet had been right. It was backwards, and senseless, and, as he was learning right now, completely masochistic.

Vicious was back at his side now, already threading a needle. Spike hissed as it jabbed his skin. He stared at the ceiling while Vicious worked, the two of them brooding in silence. _Fucking typical._

Vicious wasn’t gentle in his ministrations, but he was quick. Restitched and rebandaged, Spike sat up gingerly.

“What are you doing?” Vicious asked, busy cleaning up. He stood and pushed the med kit under the bed with his foot.

“Can’t sleep now.”

“That makes two of us.”

Spike glared at him, arm wrapped around his side. “Try not to kill me then.”

Vicious eyed him slyly. “Didn’t I just tell you I would?”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Spike was playing with fire here, he knew, but damn it if he didn’t like the heat. Right now, Vicious was dangerous, unstable, and all the things that attracted Spike to him in the first place. That old feeling was starting to burn in him again, one that was fueled by their constant competition, ever since they were young.

Spike fighting for freedom, Vicious for dominance.

“The cycle begins again,” he said, smirking.

Vicious nodded seriously. “The ouroboros.”

Spike’s grin faded. “That’s not what this is.”

Mao had told them a story, long ago, about the ouroboros, the dragon that swallowed itself. Devouring itself, forever and ever, doomed to repeat its past for eternity. Spike had always hated that story. It made him feel stuck, like he’d never escape the syndicate. But he had, despite everything.

“Isn’t it?”

The truth of Vicious’ words stung him. He _had_ escaped, but he’d landed right back at the beginning, and he’d only been fooling himself that things had changed. He’d thought that being with Faye would make it different enough, but he realized she had nothing to do with it. Not when it came to the Dragon. There was only him, and Vicious, and their feud. One that would go on, forever and ever, if he let it.

_So don’t let it, Spiegel._

He eased out of the bed and limped back to his stash of clothes, rummaging through them until he found what he was looking for. Vicious joined him, watching disinterestedly.

“You should probably lie down,” he said.

“Not until I give you these,” Spike replied. He handed Vicious a balled-up suit and a rumpled coat, but Vicious still recognized them immediately. He took them, almost in awe.

“Where…where did you get…”

“You finished your coup before the Dragon got to your apartment. It was still standing by the time I was up and moving again, so I stopped by. Found those, figured maybe you’d need them one day.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Or maybe I was just being sentimental.”

Vicious looked at him suspiciously. “Why are you giving me this?”

“I, uh,” Spike kicked at the floor. “Look, Vicious, I don’t want to repeat the past. Fuck the ouroboros, and fuck you trying to murder me again. I’m done, and you should be too. I want you back with me. We were on fire today, at the plant, I know you felt it. We’re too in sync to do something as stupid as kill one another. So, just, I don’t know, come back in. Be a part of the Dragon again. God knows I could use you.”

Vicious was silent, considering, as he ran a hand gently over the braiding on his coat. Spike could tell he was itching to put it on, to accept his offer and join him. Back to the life he’d always known, and back to the power he’d always craved.

“So I promise not to kill you, and you promise not to kill me, and we just trust one another.”

Spike nodded, apprehensive. Vicious sighed before extending his hand.

Spike took it, and Vicious pulled, hard, his fingers digging into the back of Spike’s hand. Spike stumbled forward and Vicious leaned close.

“You can’t trust a snake.”

Spike stared back, defiant. “And you can’t defeat a dragon.”

Vicious blinked, almost impressed. He released Spike and stepped back. “I promise not to kill you, Spike. Whatever that’s worth.”

Spike flexed his hand. “It’s worth whatever you decide, Vicious. Whatever happens, happens.”

They’d spent the next few hours in silence, making good use of the time by cleaning their respective weapons. Spike’s gun was sparkling by the time they heard noises from the hold.

“Must be Shin,” Vicious said, and sheathed his katana, now even sharper than it was before. It didn’t take long for the two of them to change, and make their way out to meet the rest of the Dragon.

Vicious’ re-initiation went about as well as Spike expected; Shin, despite his anger, was being a good sport about it. Spike wondered if Shin would feel better if he told him about his and Faye’s recent developments. Probably.

Still, when Vicious had brought up Lin, Spike had to step in, separating the two and reprimanding Vicious, albeit quietly. He didn’t miss the panic flickering in Vicious’ face, an emotion he so rarely displayed, and he’d felt smug. _I can make threats too._

That fear made Spike surer than ever that they’d stopped yesterday, and whatever Vicious had done had rattled him, enough not to talk about it. Well, that wasn’t anything new. But enough to make him flat out deny it, and that was suspicious. Vicious was devious, but he wasn’t a coward.

And then, to top it off, he’d had to talk with Jet. Jet, of course, had reacted just like Spike knew he would—terribly. But Spike had already faced down Vicious, and Shin, and he wasn’t about to let Jet be the one to beat him. So he’d stood his ground, and said the things he should have said all along, maybe from that first meeting on the street.

He and Jet, they were on different paths now. Where he went, Jet couldn’t follow, because it was a road paved with ambition, and deceit, and dishonor. Nothing like Jet had ever known, or tolerated, and he surely wouldn’t now, not when he was firmly entrenched with the ISSP once again.

Spike didn’t resent Jet, not anymore, for the way he saw the world. But seeing everything in black and white was a luxury Spike couldn’t afford. Life was shades of gray, full of tough choices and impossible compromises.

But sometimes, Spike reflected, that gray world filled with color, and everything was possible, just for a moment. He’d seen color the first time he’d seen Julia, all red and roses and rain.

And now, he was starting to see it again, with Faye. Not red, but something else. It was too early to tell, but he felt it, its soft hue bleeding slowly into the corners of his life.

He looked for Faye, after his fight with Jet, but both she and Ed were nowhere to be found. He was alone on the ship; Jet having stormed out at some point and Vicious leaving with Shin and his men to finish their attack on the Red Eye plant.

Spike had been hoping to spend time with Faye, maybe even alone. Maybe they could’ve gone to his room, or hers, and maybe his dream would’ve played out in real life…

But she was gone, most likely out with Ed. Spike realized he should’ve asked her about the ship, to see if she could find it, prove that he wasn’t imagining anything. But he wouldn’t have been able to give any directions, or even describe what it looked like, so the whole thing was probably moot anyway.

So instead, he just yawned and staggered back to his room, cursing the needling pain in his side. He changed quickly and reflected on the pointlessness of even wearing his suit in the first place. Well, maybe it wasn’t pointless. It had certainly sent a message to the rest of the Dragon, that Vicious was back and on top once again.

If Spike was the Head of the Dragon, Vicious would be its teeth.

And what sharp teeth they were.

He slept the rest of the day, waking up intermittently to shower and eat lunch, still alone on the Bebop. He walked through it at one point, very slowly, remembering the three years he’d spent on the old junker. Good times, and ones he’d gladly repeat, if it weren’t too late.

Besides, he wasn’t supposed to repeat the past, not anymore.

He retreated back into his room in the evening when he heard Jet coming up the ramp. He assumed it was Jet; no one else stomped quite like he did when he was pissed off.

Spike fell asleep again, waking up sometime later in the night. The lights had been switched off, and someone had pulled a blanket over him. Spike realized that it was probably Jet, and he didn’t know how to feel about that. Happy, maybe, or sad. Or maybe something else.

He’d never been good with feelings. Jet was the only one he knew who could sort them out.

He’d somehow managed to roll onto his stomach, his arm dangling over the edge of the bed. _Monster food,_ he thought dimly, before realizing he was actually in a lot of pain, his current position putting too much pressure on his wound. He grunted and gripped the underside of the bedframe, attempting to push himself up and over onto his good side.

He paused, feeling something strange under his fingers. It felt like paper, a bit thicker and glossier; something wedged between the mattress and the bedframe. _What did I put here?_ He scrabbled at the mystery object, curious. He’d almost worked it out, ignoring the burning in his side, when the door swung open.

Spike froze, hand dropping to hang limply once again as Vicious entered the room and frowned.

“You shouldn’t sleep like that.”

“I know,” Spike replied, “but it kind of just happened.” He rolled over and laced his hands behind his head, feigning nonchalance. He didn’t know what he’d hidden under the mattress, but for some reason he didn’t want Vicious to find it. “So how’d it go?”

Vicious shed his coat and bent to take off his boots. “You’re the proud owner of a Red Eye plant.” He straightened and placed his katana on the table. Spike wondered if he’d have to clean it again. Probably. Vicious never liked to leave his killing unfinished.

“Jet’s getting us into hyperspace now; everyone’s back. Shin and the rest will meet us back on Mars. They’re going to leave a few men behind, until we get a full unit out here, like we talked about.”

Spike nodded in approval. “Everything worked out then? They’re all dead?”

“We left one alive,” Vicious said, “with the promise of protection and a very generous salary.”

Spike quirked an eyebrow. “I thought you couldn’t trust a snake.”

“You can’t. I told our men to kill him after they learned the manufacturing process.”

Spike whistled, low. “That’s cold, Vicious. Even for you.”

“Day in the life,” Vicious deadpanned. He’d changed back into the clothes from the previous night, and walked over to the bed. “Let me check it,” he said. He motioned to Spike’s side. Spike complied, lifting his shirt and inhaling sharply as Vicious started unwrapping the bandages. His hands, per usual, were ice cold.

Vicious knelt down to retrieve the med kit from its place under the bed, and Spike was worried he’d discover whatever was wedged under the mattress. But Vicious didn’t give any indication that he’d seen it, only reached a long arm under the bed and pulled out the kit.

Spike lay there in silence as Vicious changed his bandages, and wished not for the first time that his hands weren’t so goddamn cold. Vicious finished, tidying up and kicking the med kit under the bed once more, before he climbed in next to Spike. His eyes slipped closed almost immediately.

“You going to kick me off the bed if I sleep on this side?” he muttered.

Spike grinned. “That depends, you going to start screaming again?” He cringed inwardly, regretting what he’d just said. After last night’s joke, this one probably wouldn’t go over well either.

But Vicious just smirked. “Doubtful.”

And suddenly, Spike was the one who didn’t feel like laughing. The way Vicious had just smiled was too cruel, too dark, for his liking. He wondered again what Vicious was keeping from him.

Still, if he was going to sleep through the night, and let Spike sleep as well, it was probably a good thing. Spike examined Vicious, debating. Thinking about the dark circles under his eyes, the empty stare he’d had for the past few days, the way he’d not seemed to grasp half the situations he’d been in recently. Not to mention the whole naked thing.

“Hey V…” Spike began tentatively. Vicious just hummed, eyes still closed. “I think you should see a doctor when we get back to Mars.”

Vicious cracked an eye open. “I feel fine, Spike. I’ve been telling you that.”

“Yeah, I know, I just think it’d be a good idea. Make sure your recovery is going smoothly and everything.”

Vicious looked at him sharply, and Spike fought to keep his face neutral. It was always impossible to tell how Vicious would react in situations like these. Spike could be unpredictable, but Vicious was downright volatile.

But Vicious just shrugged and closed his eyes again. “Fine.”

Spike exhaled silently. That could’ve gone much worse. He tried to sleep, but couldn’t. He felt like he was waiting for something, but he didn’t know what. Vicious had dropped off almost immediately, and it seemed he was right about the screaming. His chest rose and fell uninterruptedly, and he seemed truly relaxed for once.

In fact, he was so peaceful, that he didn’t wake up to the sound of Spike’s door creaking open. Spike had just been ruminating bitterly that he’d rather have Faye next to him, when she stepped quietly in the room. Spike propped himself up on one arm and grinned at her, wondering if she’d sensed him thinking about her. She clocked Vicious, fast asleep, and held a finger to her lips.

He wanted to get out of bed, but she waved him off, pointing to his side and shaking her head. He rolled his eyes, but she just put a hand on her hip and motioned for him to lie back down. He complied, begrudgingly. She looked at him for a moment longer, before mouthing _‘good night’_ and winking. He loosely saluted her, grinning from ear to ear.

God, she made him feel crazy without even speaking. And apparently, that’s what he’d been waiting for, because he was asleep within minutes of her leaving, a smile still on his face.

When he woke in the morning, Vicious was gone, no doubt already awake and terrorizing the rest of ship with his ominous presence. Maybe not Ein though, who seemed to like him. And strangely enough, Vicious seemed to like Ein. Spike recalled Vicious’ bird, and wondered if that had something to do with it.

Suddenly remembering the mystery object, Spike rolled out of bed and knelt on the floor. It took a few moments to maneuver himself under the bed, and his side ached in protest, but he eventually worked himself into position.

He stared up at the mattress for a full minute, stunned. Because the thing, whatever it was, was gone.

And there was only one person who could have taken it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh, do we trust Vicious? Or is he back to his devious ways? Spike isn't sure, and you shouldn't be either. And what the fuck was under Spike's bed?
> 
> Also rip, Spike has slept with Vicious more than Faye. But never fear, because next chapter we're checking in with the queen herself. She's got a few things to check off her to-do list, and I know for a fact one of them is Spike Spiegel.
> 
> See you next time, space cowboys!


	23. We're Always Fighting, Remember?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike and Faye are good at fighting. But they're good at other things too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, this chapter has more fluff inside than a California King mattress, but it was time to give all you Spike x Faye lovers at least something for sticking with this for so long. Not the chapter I had planned to write, but the one that was supposed to be written. Enjoy!

Faye was having a pretty good day, all things considered. Even if she’d bought ingredients for lobster miso soup in a fit of madness and tried to make it, before almost burning the kitchen down. She’d abandoned the food, and the cleanup, opting instead to flop down on the couch and take a three-hour nap.

She woke up to the sound of Lola walking into the apartment and squawking indignantly at the mess. “Faye! Are you serious? You’ve been back for three days and everything’s already a disaster!”

Faye sat up and yawned. “Oh, is that still there?”

Lola pursed her lips and set about cleaning up. Faye stretched and got off the couch before joining her. “You don’t have to help, I can do it.”

Lola just smiled, all irritation gone, dumping the offending soup into the sink. “And what the hell was this supposed to be?”

“Lobster miso soup,” Faye mumbled.

Lola snorted. “I think you’d be better off just ordering out.”

“You’re not making dinner?” Faye pouted.

Lola shook her head. “Date night, remember?”

Faye smacked her forehead. “Right, right.” She made shooing motions at Lola. “You should be getting ready, I’ll finish cleaning this up.” Lola nodded, exiting the kitchen and heading to her room. “Yell if you need any help!” Faye called over her shoulder.

 _Probably won’t,_ Faye reflected. Lola’s style had evolved nicely over the past year, thanks in part to Shin’s generous gifts and Faye’s fashion expertise. Not that she wanted to brag. She remembered she and Lola were supposed to go wedding dress shopping the day after tomorrow, and she sighed.

It’s not that she wasn’t excited, but thinking about marriage always put a funny taste in her mouth. She knew Lola and Shin were destined for each other, and she had no doubt they’d be incandescently happy, but she’d always been skeptical of the institution as a whole. Spending the rest of your life with one person, no escape. Faye had never been good with commitment, and even worse with love.

Still, she wondered if she might be edging in that direction, with Spike Spiegel of all people. Certainly not marriage or anything like that, but maybe commitment, in a way. _Baby steps, Valentine._

Faye shook her head, the mess in the kitchen finally neutralized, and went back to her previous position on the couch. She hadn’t seen Spike since they’d gotten back to Mars. She knew, logically, that he’d probably been swamped with work for the Dragon, and she’d been busy at Fantaisie as well. Lola had kept the place running smoothly for the short time Faye was gone, but there was still much to catch up on. She could only imagine Spike had a lot to deal with as well.

At least, she hoped that’s what it was. Ever since that moment in the hold, they’d been skirting each other carefully, somehow acting both intimate and timid at the same time. It was infuriating, this strange dance they were doing, neither moving forward, but not stepping back either. Faye wondered if maybe they were both just crossing their fingers for the perfect moment.

Besides, it’s not like they’d been able to spend time together anyway. She’d been occupied with Ed for the remainder of their time on the Bebop, and Spike was busy handling Vicious. Faye, having no desire to go anywhere near Vicious after he strangled her, decided to keep her distance, even if every fiber of her being was screaming to be close to Spike.

She had worried he didn’t feel the same way, but the way he’d lit up when she said goodnight told her otherwise. It was adorable, his grin when she’d slipped into the room. She was a little embarrassed to admit that she’d gone looking for him with an entirely different motive in mind, one that involved ripping off his clothes. But Vicious had been in the way, per usual, so she’d decided to wait on that score.

She was still waiting, three days later, and she was starting to go a little crazy. She didn’t think Spike was avoiding her, but the little nagging voice in her head was making her suspicious.

She sighed and closed her eyes. _Whatever happens, happens._ She’d been hearing that voice a lot lately as well, and it always sounded like Spike.

About an hour later, she woke up, not even realizing she’d fallen asleep, to a knock at the door.

Faye pushed herself up off the couch, grumbling. She was worried it was someone from Fantaisie, coming to ask her a stupid question they could have just called her about. It wouldn’t be the first time. _And tonight’s my night off._

But when she opened the door, Shin was standing there, grinning widely. “Hi, Faye.”

“Oh, hey Shin. Should’ve guessed. Lola’s still getting ready, I think.”

He nodded, still smiling like he was about to explode. “Right, I’ll go help, then.”

Faye rolled her eyes; the last time he’d ‘helped,’ he and Lola ended up missing their dinner reservation entirely, and Faye couldn’t look at either of them for a week without blushing.

“Keep it down, would you? I’ve got to eat dinner, and I don’t want to get sick.”

Shin’s smile widened even more. Faye really thought his face might split apart. “Don’t worry about dinner, that’s covered.”

“What?” Faye asked, confused. But Shin just winked and slipped past her into the apartment. Lola’s door opened and shut a moment later, and Faye could already hear her giggling.

_Oh, Christ._

She was just about to shut the door when the elevator at the end of the hall dinged open. She paused, and almost choked when Spike stepped through the doors, a paper bag in one hand and a bottle of vodka in the other.

He noticed her standing in the doorway and gave a small wave, before walking awkwardly down the hall towards her. Faye just looked at him, confused. “What are you doing here?”

He stopped in front of her and jostled the bag. “I brought you dinner. And me.” He cringed. “I mean, dinner for you and me, not that I brought me, ah, for you.”

“Clearly we’ll be needing this,” Faye said, grabbing the vodka.

Spike looked at her, a little desperate. “Can I come in?”

Faye pretended to debate for a moment. She didn’t rightly know why Spike was so nervous, but she was loving it. “I guess. Since you brought dinner. And you.”

Spike rolled his eyes, embarrassment fading, and followed her into the apartment. “Hope I’m not intruding on any important plans.”

“Actually, you’re saving my ass. I tried to make dinner and it was a disaster.”

He squinted at her. “You? Made dinner?”

“Ha, yes, very funny. I got cocky, and it was a mistake. Besides, if you’re going to keep showing up with food, then I don’t really have any reason to try again, do I?”

Spike tried and failed to hide a smile. “Get used to a lot of takeout, then.”

Faye motioned to the bottle in her hand. “No single malt?”

“You don’t like it.”

Now Faye was the one who couldn’t hide her smile. They looked at each other for a moment, and Spike opened his mouth to speak. Lola’s door opened, and Shin and Lola stepped out. They both looked like they belonged on a magazine cover, of course, and Faye could only imagine they were about to go do something glamorous and over the top.

She wondered what she and Spike would do on a date. If they ever went on one. _Are we having one right now?_ He’d brought food, and drinks, and they were about to be alone, just the two of them. Her heart started beating faster.

Spike gave Shin a lazy wave, resolutely ignoring his pleased expression. Faye suspected Shin and Lola had been involved in getting him over here in the first place.

“Well,” Shin said, “we’re heading out.” They moved past Faye, holding hands, but Lola stopped in front of Spike and narrowed her eyes.

“If you break her heart,” she whispered, “I’ll kill you. I don’t care if you’re my fiancé’s boss.” Spike just nodded mutely, half amused and half terrified.

Shin pulled her away gently. “Come on, baby, we’re going to be late.”

Lola flashed a brilliant smile at Faye and winked before letting herself be ushered out the door.

“Have fun you two!” she called over her shoulder.

“And Spike,” Shin chimed in wickedly, “Lola just washed all the sheets, so please be careful.”

The door slammed shut behind them, and they were no doubt running towards the elevator, lest their friends try to murder them. _And boy, if looks could kill,_ Faye thought. Spike was staring daggers at the door. He turned to her and shook his head.

“Sorry.”

Faye just smirked. “For what? That was some sound advice.”

Spike’s mouth dropped open for a moment, but then he shut it, deciding instead to walk into the kitchen and put down the paper bag.

“Sorry I’ve been AWOL, everything’s just a little crazy right now.”

“Yeah, same here. I swear I leave for one minute and my staff forgets how to function. It’s exhausting to be needed so much.”

Spike grinned at her, unpacking the food he’d brought. “You love it.”

She moved to the kitchen as well, snagging two glasses from the cabinet. “I do. But I don’t love Lola deciding every Wednesday is now ‘Compliment Night,’ and you can’t get a drink at the bar until you say something nice about the person to your right.”

That had come as quite the surprise, and she’d only found out about it because last night a random man told her she had ‘kind eyes.’

Spike snorted, uncapping the vodka and splashing some into their glasses. “Well, I see your Compliment Night, and I raise you taking Vicious to the doctor.”

Faye grimaced. “I’m assuming that went horribly.”

“Let’s just say that when the doctor suggested a prostate exam, Vicious suggested he should imagine trying to operate with his head shoved up his ass.”

Faye couldn’t help the loud laugh that burst out of her. Spike grinned. “Yeah, it is pretty funny.” He sat down at her kitchen table, rubbing his eyes. “After that, the doctor decided, not surprisingly, that Vicious was pretty much good to go. So, I guess he’s technically been cleared, at least physically.”

“But not mentally,” Faye said darkly. She was thinking about Vicious’ bloody hand on her throat.

Spike shook his head. “Not at all. He keeps getting worse, I think. And I don’t know why.”

“And that’s a bad thing why?”

Spike threw her an exasperated look. “Faye, come on.”

“Not sorry. I hate him, you know that.”

“Even though he’s my friend?” Spike said, raising an eyebrow.

“You two could be married and I’d still sit by and let him get a hundred prostate exams.”

Spike whistled, impressed. “Remind me never to cross you, Valentine.”

She joined him at the table and took a sip of her vodka. _Top shelf._ Not that she expected anything less from the Head of the Dragon. It was odd to think of Spike in that way, lunkhead that he was. Still, she’d seen him in action, and she knew he could be intimidating when the situation called for it. And, if she was being totally honest, it kind of turned her on.

She shook her head. _Getting ahead of yourself._ She still wasn’t totally sure why Spike was here, whether he wanted to fuck her brains out or just not eat dinner alone for once.

“So,” she said conversationally, “what did the doctor say about you?”

“Me?”

She pointed to his side. She’d noticed he was a little stiff, but otherwise he seemed to be back to normal.

“Oh,” he said, nodding, “it’s fine. Just can’t to any strenuous physical activity for the next week.”

Faye stared him down. “Please tell me you’re going to follow those instructions.”

Spike lifted a shoulder. “Depends on the activity, I guess.”

They looked at each other for a long moment, and Faye winked suggestively. She’d meant it as a joke, but Spike jerked away like he’d been burned. She didn’t say anything, only took another drink. They sat in silence for a few moments, and Faye was more confused than ever. _Why did he come over?_

Spike stood up suddenly, his chair scraping loudly along the floor. Faye rose too, unsure of what was happening. “Spike? Everything okay?”

“No.”

She shivered at his voice, deep and gravelly. The last time she’d heard him speak like that, well, they’d almost kissed. _Are we going to-_

Spike downed his drink in one swallow, before rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck.

Faye looked at him curiously. “Are we about to fight or something?”

He grabbed her hand, pulling her from the kitchen towards her bedroom. “We’re always fighting, remember?”

_Oh my God, we really are going to-_

Spike halted in the center of her room, reaching behind her to push the door shut. She backed up, smiling seductively. “And what are we fighting about this time?”

Spike growled, low in his throat, and her heart fluttered. He stepped forward, agonizingly slow, like he was about to jump off a cliff.

“Absolutely nothing, Faye. Nothing at all.”

He was right in front of her now, and she felt her back press against the wall. He leaned down, eyes dark, his whisper sending a thrill through her entire body.

“So let’s just fuck instead.”

And then, his lips were on hers, and everything else fell away.

It was both everything and nothing like she’d expected. Kissing Spike was strange—not in a bad way, but she was surprised at the tenderness of it, underneath all the ferocity.

He had her pinned against the wall at first, but she snaked her arms around his shoulders and jumped, wrapping her legs around his waist to get better leverage. Her hands tangled in his hair, and he locked his arms underneath her.

It reminded her of their dance, so long ago, each reading the other’s movements and shifting easily to match them. He took a few steps back until he sat down on her bed, and she ground her hips against his hungrily, eager to get down to business.

He groaned against her lips. At first she thought it was from pleasure, but then she froze, realizing he was actually in pain. She drew back and looked at him, but he avoided her gaze, embarrassed.

She scrambled off his lap and glared at him. “Spike.”

“I’m fine,” he protested. “Really. It’s fine.”

“Maybe you don’t want to follow what the doctor says, but I sure as hell do.”

Spike exhaled, exasperated. “Are you serious?”

She raised an eyebrow, challenging him. “I’m not about to let you rip yourself open again in my bedroom. You’d ruin the clean sheets.” She sighed. The tension between them was still there, but she knew it really wouldn’t be wise to keep going. “Besides, we’ve waited this long, so a few more days won’t matter.”

“Not to you, maybe,” he muttered. But he relented, leaning back slowly until he was flat on the bed. Faye eyed his side, still not convinced. “It’ll be okay,” he assured her. “Didn’t tear any stitches, I promise.”

“But does it hurt?”

“Yeah, actually. Hurts like a bitch.” He looked at her mischievously. “You could probably kiss it better.”

Faye just rolled her eyes. “Right, and get sepsis.”

She moved to sit against the headboard. She remembered before, when she’d ran her hand through Spike’s hair to help him feel better, and couldn’t resist doing it again, even if it made her look like the world’s biggest pushover. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Kind of killed the mood.”

Faye shrugged. “I’d rather wait until you’re at full strength anyway. Then we’ll see what you can really do.”

Spike smirked beneath her. “Gonna rock your world, Valentine.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Ouch.”

She hummed noncommittally, still carding her fingers through Spike’s hair. The energy had changed between them, almost imperceptibly, but she felt the difference. There was an openness that hadn’t been there before, and all the awkward feelings she’d had before were gone. She felt like he could ask her anything, and she’d answer willingly, hell, even truthfully. She wondered if the same went for him-

_Wait._

She leaned closer to Spike, eyes narrowing.

_Is that what I think it is?_

She paused, grinning devilishly.

Spike opened his eyes. “Faye?”

“Spike,” she said, “don’t freak out.”

He froze beneath her. “Why? What’s wrong?”

He sounded so worried that she felt a little bad about playing it up, but she couldn’t resist. “You—oh God—it’s horrible. You’re too young! Too full of life! It’s just too soon!”

Spike, realizing she was messing with him, rolled his eyes. “I’m sure this would be funnier if I had any idea what you were talking about.”

Faye giggled. “You’ve got a gray hair.”

Spike shot up, Faye’s hand getting knocked aside. “What?” He started running his own hands through his hair, searching frantically. “Where?”

Faye watched him, completely bemused. “Spike, relax.”

He looked at her, and she was shocked to see he looked scared. Maybe not to the average bystander, but Faye knew him well enough to tell when he was trying to hide something. And apparently this had spooked him. She reached out gently and took his hands in her own, detangling them from his hair and pulling them into her lap.

“It’s totally normal.”

He frowned at her, annoyed. “You don’t have any.”

“That’s because I’m immortal, didn’t you know?” She laughed and squeezed his hands reassuringly. “Besides, it’s only one. Vicious has about nine million of them.”

That got a smile out of Spike, finally, and he looked down sheepishly. “I don’t know why I freaked out. Don’t like getting older, I guess.”

Faye shrugged. “Nobody does. But for now, we can just do this.” Her fingers worked back into Spike’s hair and she plucked out the offending strand. They both looked at it for a moment before she tossed it over her shoulder, letting it get lost in the fibers of her carpet below.

“See? Good as new,” she said.

Spike flopped back down on the bed with a groan, then winced and put a hand on his side. “This Dragon thing must be stressing me out more than I thought.”

Faye stretched out on her stomach next to him, resting her chin on her hands. She studied him carefully. He certainly was looking more worn these days, run down in a way that he never had on the Bebop. She noticed faint lines at the corners of his eyes, ones that hadn’t been there before, and her heart suddenly ached for him. She opened her mouth, but shut it again, unsure if she should say what she was thinking.

“What is it?” Spike asked.

“Do you ever,” she said cautiously, “I don’t know, think about getting out? Again, I mean.”

Spike kept his eyes trained on the ceiling. “Sometimes, maybe. It’d be easier than before, I know that.” He fidgeted. “But then I think about everything else, and it seems futile. Or stupid at least.”

“Stupid how?”

Spike sighed. “Well, it’s not like I’ve got any reason to leave. It’s a lot different than it was, now that I’m at the top. Plus, you’re here, and so is Vicious, so I guess I just don’t see the point. Whatever happens, happens, and I’m fine with it all right now.”

Faye narrowed her eyes. “But are you happy?”

He grinned. “At the moment.”

Faye smiled too, but persisted. “That’s not what I meant, Spiegel.”

For some reason, when she said that, he turned to gaze at her fondly. She blushed, unsure of what she’d done to make him look so affectionate. But whatever it was, she wanted to do it again.

He squeezed one eye shut, thinking. “I’m happy enough, I guess. And you’re happy, I think, so that helps.” His mouth twisted, embarrassed. “Cliché, I know.”

Faye just grinned. “I don’t care.”

“You are happy, aren’t you?” he asked, a little bit hesitant.

“Of course. I’ve got a stash of woolongs and a walk-in closet.”

“Oh, well,” Spike grumbled, “if that’s all it takes.”

Faye flicked his shoulder teasingly. “Seriously, I am,” she said. “I’m better than I’ve been in a long time, and not just because of the money. I love working at Fantaisie—I’m good at it, and I’m really good at bossing people around. I don’t know,” she sighed, “I guess you could say I found somewhere I belong. And that’s what makes me happiest, I think.”

Spike nodded, looking at her with soft eyes. She stared back, still not satisfied.

“What about you?” she asked.

“Me?”

“What makes you happiest, Spike?”

He thought a moment. “You.”

She smiled, but shook her head. A sweet sentiment, and enough to make her stomach flip with pleasure, but still not right. “Not a real answer.”

“What are you talking about?” he protested, propping himself up on one arm.

“You can’t put all your happiness in one person; life doesn’t work like that.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “How do you know we aren’t just too cynical to believe that?”

“Because,” she said patiently, “you can’t let a someone else be responsible for your own life, cynic or otherwise.”

Spike nodded, seeing her point, and laid down again. “How’d you get to be so smart, Valentine?”

“I’m a lot older than you, remember?” They both smirked at that. “But you didn’t answer the question.”

He sighed and closed his eyes. “What makes me happiest...” He trailed off, and stayed silent for so long that Faye was worried he’d fallen asleep. But she startled a few minutes later when he finally spoke again, almost shyly, in the quiet of the room.

“Being free.”

Faye had thought he might say something like that, but her heart sank nonetheless. Being free meant no commitments, nothing tying him down. He’d been like that as long as she’d known him, but it still hurt to think about. _What does that mean for us? Is there even an ‘us’?_

But there had to be, otherwise he wouldn’t have kissed her like that. She just didn’t know how he felt about them. _You could always just ask, idiot._ But she didn’t want to, not yet. This was a good moment, and she didn’t want to ruin it. She was scared—afraid that if she asked him to choose her, he wouldn’t. Or couldn’t.

That’s why she hadn’t told him about Vicious threatening her either. If he had to choose between her and Vicious, or her and Julia, or her and anything really, she could end up on top, but she could also lose everything.

And Faye had decided she’d rather have just half of Spike than none at all.

So she decided to steer the conversation in a different direction, back to neutral territory. “Jet didn’t seem happy when we landed; any idea why that would be?” She was fully aware they’d fought, again, but still didn’t know why.

Jet had been escorted straight to a car after they touched down, no doubt going back to that apartment he’d told her about. Ed had joined him, along with Ein, and that seemed to make him feel a bit better. Faye hoped they weren’t going to be locked in, and Spike had assured her they wouldn’t, only that he wanted to keep an eye on them.

Spike sighed. “I told him I wanted Ed to work for the Dragon. He said no, and then I said he wasn’t the one to make that call. It kind of just spiraled from there.”

Faye’s eyebrows shot up. “Why the fuck would you do that? Spike, of course he was angry! Ed’s basically his whole world now. Christ, sometimes you’re the biggest lunkhead…” She trailed off, exasperated.

Spike turned his head to the side and looked at her miserably. “I didn’t know how else to make them stay. I don’t want them to leave, Faye. I don’t-” He looked away again. “I don’t want any of you to leave.”

Faye gaped at him, too focused on his idiocy to deal with the way her heart leapt when he said he wanted her to stay. “You couldn’t think of _any_ other way? How about just asking? Watch. ‘Hey Jet, you’re my best friend in the whole world, even though it seems like I’m pals again with a murdering psychopath, and I really, really don’t want you to leave.’ It’s as simple as that.”

Spike groaned and covered his face with his hands. “It’s not though. Jet’s a cop, and I’m the literal head of a crime syndicate. If he wanted to stay, he’d have to make some serious compromises, ones I know he wouldn’t. Jet’s a bastard like that.”

Faye looked at him drily. “Have you considered that maybe _you’re_ the bastard?”

“Of course not,” Spike said, pretending to be offended. “That’s just absurd, Valentine.”

He cracked a smile, and Faye rolled her eyes, moving to snuggle into his good side. She threw an arm over him, mindful of his injury, and let her hand come to rest on top of his heart. It was beating in the steady rhythm she’d come to know; its constancy grounding her in a way nothing else could.

“Well,” she whispered, “you don’t have to worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

Spike hummed contentedly and wrapped his arms around her. “Good. Me neither.”

And then, as if on cue:

_BEEP._

Spike pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Faye threw him a look. “What was that about not going anywhere?”

He just looked back apologetically before sitting up. “Sorry, let me just-” He reached into his pocket to pull out his beeper, silencing it quickly. “It’s from Shin,” he said, frowning.

“Probably asking about the sheets,” Faye grinned. “Tell him we- Spike?” Spike had gone pale, eyes wide in shock. “Spike, what happened?”

“It’s Jet.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“What? Spike, what is it?” Faye asked, worried. “Did he and Ed leave?” She couldn’t imagine they’d do that, at least not without saying goodbye.

“No, uh, no, not that.” He looked back at Faye, totally stunned.

“He just tried to kill Vicious.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh, shit's about to go down. And shit DID go down! Hope you guys are satisfied, we finally got a kiss, and it only took 23 chapters! And yes, I too am appalled that they just left their food out and didn't even eat it, but they were busy eating each other's faces, so. 
> 
> Next chapter, back to Jet. He really needs to explain just what the hell is going on, thank you very much.


	24. Call Me, Call Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jet wants to leave. But not like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AGGGHHHHHHHHHHH, the Jet chapters!!!!! Sorry for updating so, so, SO late, but here we are. I got caught up in some other stuff, namely writing an entirely different fanfic for an entirely different fandom, but here's the next chapter, hope you all like it!
> 
> Update: I wrote that a/n when I had about 90% of this chapter finished, and then my laptop decided to yeet itself off this mortal coil and deleted everything so I had to start over. Again, sorry for how late this is, and I think this is probably my worst chapter, but I really can't be arsed to write it a third time.

Jet didn’t fully understand what had happened. One moment, he was sitting in that godforsaken apartment (well, maybe a little less godforsaken because Ed was next to him, swinging her legs and chattering about processing capacities), and the next, Vicious was barging through the door, katana swinging and ready to kill.

Jet and Ed had been there for the past week, since their return to Tharsis. But it was different than before—for starters, they were allowed to leave the apartment. Jet didn’t know if this was due to a change of heart from Spike, or the fact that Shin seemed to have warmed to Ed and Ein almost immediately. They went outside at least once a day, doing harmless things that Ed found exciting and Jet found blissfully normal.

Still, he couldn’t forget the way their door would lock at night, the extra deadbolts and the obscenely long passcode that kept them trapped, in the most basic sense. He’d thought, during the first two days, that maybe Spike would show up, or even Faye, but he was wrong. Jet worried—worried that they would be stuck in this apartment forever, or at least until Jet renounced his vow as an operative of the ISSP, or some dramatic shit like that.

He didn’t know what to do exactly, at this point. If he had to put money on it, he’d bet the ISSP agent he’d been in very minimal contact with had already assumed he was dead. And honestly, after careful reflection, Jet was fine with that. The ISSP had been a way to try and move on, but it had also been a step straight back into the past, the very same thing he’d been arguing with Spike about all along.

And now that Ed was back, he felt like he had a purpose again, albeit a precarious one.

Spike was right, when he said Ed could make her own choices. He’d resolved, upon their return, not to smother her, or control her (not that he could if he tried), but instead be a stable presence in her otherwise turbulent life. Ein too, was a nice addition, something he could form some semblance of a routine around. Wake up, feed Ein. Eat breakfast, walk Ein. Sit in the apartment, pet Ein. Wait for Spike to show up, let Ein chew on his sleeve.

But a week had passed, and no Spike. Vicious though, had apparently decided to make a visit. And what an entrance, the door banging open and Jet glimpsing the two guards and their two infamous drool-inducing tranq guns limp on the hallway floor.

Jet had gone on full alert, jumping up to shield Ed. He said a silent prayer of thanks that Ein was out on a walk with Shin, so that was one less to worry about. Still, maybe he could’ve been useful, like biting Vicious in the crotch or something.

Vicious came at them fast, and Ed had the good sense to duck under the table as Jet tried to deal with the blade that was about to pierce his heart. He was so focused on dodging, again and again, and Vicious was so focused on attacking, again and again, each stroke more unbalanced than the last, that neither of them noticed Ed, who’d wriggled along the floor and was now behind Vicious.

She kicked him in the back of the leg, a sharp jab that only Spike could’ve taught her (Jet’s heart swelled with pride at that), and Vicious stumbled, dropping to one knee. Jet was on him in a moment, roaring. He closed his hands around Vicious’ neck and throttled him with everything he had. Jet wasn’t angry he’d been attacked, per say, but Ed had been in danger, and he didn’t take those kinds of threats lightly.

Besides, everything had happened so quickly that Jet’s instincts had kicked in, and those had always been rooted in violence, if he was being honest. Still, it was disconcerting, the way Vicious was looking at him as Jet steadily cut off his air flow. His eyes were gleaming with something that looked eerily like relief, and Jet wondered for a moment if this was another hare-brained suicide attempt.

But then why had he attacked Jet in the first place? Vicious had his katana, and he knew how to use it. So he dropped that theory. And Vicious, a moment later, because Shin had just burst into the room, Ein on a leash by his side, and leveled his gun at Jet.

Jet didn’t stop squeezing though, still seeing red, because goddammit, this psychopath had just tried to murder him and Ed. But the very small part of his brain that was still thinking rationally told him it certainly looked like he was the one doing the murdering.

In those brief seconds of confusion, Vicious narrowed his eyes, and Jet barely had time to raise his eyebrows before Vicious kneed him in the groin. A dirty move, but then Vicious had never been a gentleman. Jet released him and they both fell to the ground, gasping for breath for entirely different reasons.

It took a few moments, but Vicious finally stood and nodded to Shin, who was still pointing his gun at Jet. Ed was in the corner, her face frozen in shock. “Friend-person,” she said dazedly, but Vicious didn’t even spare her a glance as he staggered out of the room, Ein barking unhappily at his exit.

Jet was trying to speak, but fucking hell, Vicious had some sharp knees, and it was impossible for him to tell Shin that Vicious was the perpetrator here. Ed wasn’t much help either, because she just kept saying ‘Friend-person,’ and Shin couldn’t possibly know what she meant.

Shin reached a hand into his pocket and pulled out his pager, sending a message. _To Spike, probably. ‘Your friend finally snapped.’_

Jet finally caught his breath, and got to his feet gingerly. Shin narrowed his eyes, gesturing with the gun, and Jet raised his hands in surrender.

“Don’t worry, Shin, I’m cooperating,” he said. “Ed, kiddo, come sit back down with me.”

She did, thankfully, but not before tugging on Ein’s leash. Shin considered a moment before letting go, and Ein trotted over to the table to lay at Jet’s feet. Jet opened his mouth to try and explain, but Shin cut him off.

“Not until Spike gets here.”

Jet fell silent, because he knew nothing he said to Shin would make any difference. He was a nice guy, but only up to a point. He was also loyal as hell, and Jet knew he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot them if they tried to make a run for it.

He pondered that as they waited—Shin’s unwavering loyalty. It was so strange. Vicious, the man he held responsible for the death of his brother, his flesh and blood, who he himself had wanted dead on multiple occasions, was being strangled. He was being killed.

And yet Shin had stopped it. Not because it was what he wanted, but because it was what Spike wanted. And Jet just couldn’t wrap his head around it. To be so dedicated to a person. But, upon reflection, he realized Shin wasn’t loyal to a person. He was loyal to the Dragon. Even when he helped Spike before, he’d been helping the Dragon. He was the only one who could see it, apparently, what Spike was going to become, how he would lead the syndicate to become stronger and more successful than ever.

Shin had entered the room, weighed the options, and decided, all in a split second, that Vicious was more important to the survival of the Red Dragon. So he had aimed his gun at Jet, and let the real bad guy get away.

Jet shouldn’t be surprised, really, Shin worked for a _crime_ syndicate after all—it was just strange to see. He reminded Jet of himself, he realized, back in his younger days. When he thought the ISSP stood for something, and he gave it everything he had.

He debated on saying something to Shin, warning him to not be so dedicated, but then he remembered Shin had something Jet didn’t at the time. A life beyond, something he could escape to. _Lola,_ he thought. _That’s her name._ He wondered when they were getting married; Faye told him they were engaged.

Jet shook himself. He had to stop doing this—getting involved. He liked to think he was a lone wolf, but really he caved at the first sign of someone who needed help. Shin didn’t need his help, or his advice; he’d tried it with Spike too many times, and look where that got them.

Besides, he’d promised Spike, he’d let him go. And he was trying. So he sat silently with Ed, waiting for his fate to be decided.

Spike walked hurriedly through door half an hour later, taking in the scene.

“Spike-person!” Ed yelled happily, bounding up from the table to give him a hug. Spike, ever the charmer, stood frozen on the spot, stiff as a pole, while Ed squeezed him with all her might.

Over the top of Ed’s head, Spike met Shin’s eyes and motioned for him to lower his gun.

Shin shook his head, but complied. “You have to handle this shit, Spike. It’s out of control.”

Jet half-expected Spike to reprimand him, but Spike just sighed and nodded. “Shin, can you take Ed and Ein out of here? Just go next door to Vicious’ place. I’m assuming he’s long gone.”

“Should we send someone to look for him?”

Spike waved a hand. “No, he’ll surface sooner or later. Probably at my place, I’ll let you know.”

Shin nodded, before shepherding Ed and Ein out of the room and closing the door. It shut with a finality that Jet did not particularly like.

Spike turned to Jet with a sigh. “What the hell, Jet? Seriously, what were you thinking? I really don’t understand; I need you to explain to me. Why would you do that? I thought you guys were on good terms, last I checked. Didn’t he rescue Ed or some shit?”

He paused, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. “Jet, I don’t think you realize-”

“Spike,” Jet interrupted, “Vicious was the one who tried to kill me.”

Spike’s eyes sprang open. “What?”

“Vicious attacked me,” Jet repeated, “not the other way around.”

“But Shin said-”

“Shin got it wrong. He came in later, and I was choking him. Self-defense, I swear.” Jet squinted at Spike appraisingly. “You believe me, right?”

Spike didn’t meet his eyes. He looked like he was debating something.

“Come on, kid. You have to believe me.”

Spike shook himself and ran a hand over his face.

“God, of course I believe you, Jet. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s like ever since Vicious came back I’ve just…” he motioned vaguely, “just fallen right back into the old days.”

Spike narrowed his eyes. “But that doesn’t make any sense, why Vicious would try to kill you. Aren’t you two friends now?”

Jet threw Spike a look. “You two are friends, how many times has he tried to kill you?”

Spike chuckled darkly at that. “Yeah, good point. Vicious-”

All of a sudden, Spike’s face went blank. Then he darted forward, grabbing Jet’s arm and pulling him towards the door. “You need to go. Now.”

“What? Where are we going?”

Spike shook his head. “Not we. Just you and Ed. And Faye, if she wants to. You’re getting out of here, Jet, as soon as you can. Fuck, I shouldn’t have kept you here in the first place, I know that, but you have to go _now._ ”

Nothing Spike was saying made any sense to Jet. This change of heart, having him leave, after he’d been locked up for so long. It didn’t add up. Not after everything he’d put Jet through, not after he’d lied, and manipulated, and shown how terrible he could really be. It was hard to believe—that the Spike Jet knew was still in there, still fighting to be a good man. So he didn’t believe it, not quite.

Spike had opened the door, and was waiting for Jet to walk through, but Jet halted, crossing his arms. Spike looked over at him, a little wild.

“Spike. I thought you wanted Ed to work for you. And you needed me to put up or shut up. So why are you doing this now? Letting us go, I mean.”

“What?”

“Why are you letting us go?” Jet repeated. “I’m sorry, bud, I just can’t trust you blindly anymore. Not after everything. No more lies—you promised. So you have to tell me why.”

Spike’s face hardened. “Because I was being a bastard, Jet.”

Jet cocked his head, confused, but it seemed to make sense to Spike. “I never should’ve kept you here, it’s just- just that-” His eyes roamed the room, looking anywhere but Jet. “I wanted you to stay.”

For a long moment, there was silence between them. Jet opened his mouth.

“And I know-” Spike said hurriedly, holding out a hand to stop Jet, “I know you can’t, and I can’t ask you to. Because I already asked you to let me go, and you did. For me. So let me do this last thing for you.”

“Last? Spike, what are you talking about?”

Spike motioned for Jet to follow him again. “You have to get out of here, and I don’t just mean the apartment. You have to leave the city, leave Mars, hell, leave this galaxy, if you can. Because he’ll be coming for you; for all of us.”

“Who?” Jet was more lost now than before.

“Vicious. He told me- fuck, he _told_ me he would do this. And I didn’t listen, I didn’t think he’d actually- god _dammit!”_ Spike’s hand twitched, like he wanted to reach for his gun.

“Spike,” Jet said, trying to reason with him, “if Vicious is after us, we can deal with him together. Track him down, just like a bounty. You’ve killed him once, you can do it before. And you’re the Head of the Red Dragon. That counts for something, right?”

But Spike just shook his head. “Yeah, you and I could do that, maybe. But are you willing to risk Ed? Because every minute you’re still here puts both of you in danger. I don’t know where Vicious is; I don’t know what his next move will be; the only thing I know is that he’ll be coming after us.”

 _Shit, Ed._ Jet couldn’t even think about letting something happen to her. Not when he just got her back. “So what are you saying? We take the Bebop and run?”

“No, you can’t. You have to leave it behind, Jet. It’s too easy for Vicious to track.”

Jet immediately wanted to protest, but Spike had already walked out the door and was entering the code for Vicious’ apartment next door. Jet had no choice but to follow, stepping inside numbly and crouching down to pet Ein as he trotted over to sniff at his boots.

The next hour was a blur, Spike and Shin talking in hushed voices and both making various calls to unknown numbers. Jet sat with Ed and Ein on the couch. He’d explained to Ed, briefly, that they’d be leaving soon, but when she asked where they were going, he could only shrug. She didn’t seem to mind that answer, though, and spent the rest of the time listing all the different places and planets she wanted to visit.

Ein fell asleep in his lap, and Jet, for some reason, could only think of his new bonsai tree, still on the Bebop, and how it would wither and die like all the rest. He knew he’d feel _something_ about this, sooner or later, but at the moment he was just numb. And oddly calm.

He’d felt like that, something akin to peace, ever since he’d decided to let Spike go, that night on the Bebop. He’d been holding onto the past for so long, and now he was working to forget it, like he’d preached all along. So, as everything was whirling around him, Jet found himself in a bubble of quiet, simply waiting for the next move. He and Ed would leave, of course, like Spike said. Jet wanted Spike to come with them, but he knew better than to ask.

Spike, as much as he fought it, was still tied to the past, and would be, until Vicious was dead.

Jet didn’t expect Faye to run with them either. Spike might have been too blind to see it, but Jet knew. Faye found where she belonged, and Jet doubted she’d be leaving Spike’s side anytime soon.

Faye actually showed up at the apartment a few minutes later, looking a bit harried and considerably less put together than usual. Ed leapt up immediately, of course, but Spike beat her to it. He grabbed Faye’s hand and dragged her into the empty bedroom, quietly shutting the door.

In another time, Jet would’ve strained to hear their conversation, but he just settled back against the couch and closed his eyes. Ed flopped back down next to him, and she was quiet as well. Too quiet, but Jet didn’t mind, not at the moment. They’d have time, he’d make sure they would, for Ed to get back to her normal, bubbly self. Jet would be there to help, whether that meant letting her rot her brains out in front of a computer screen or making her all the mushroom stir fry in the world.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because when he opened his eyes again, the apartment was bathed in shadows from the setting sun. Faye and Spike stepped out of the room a moment later, and Jet was surprised to see Spike’s eyes were red.

Then Faye motioned to Ed, who jumped up again and zoomed back into the bedroom with her. The door shut once more, and Spike slumped down next to Jet. Jet was a little shocked when Spike reached out a hand and started scratching Ein behind the ears.

“I thought you hated dogs,” he teased.

Spike just shrugged. “Won’t see him for a while.”

A few minutes later, the door reopened, and the two girls came out of the room. Jet could see Faye’s eyes glistening faintly, but he knew better than to comment. She’d deny it anyway. Ed was clutching something in her hand, and after a moment, Jet deciphered it was a bottle of nail polish. Blue. That caught at his memory, for some reason.

But neither said anything, and Shin, who’d been fiddling with his beeper the whole time, finally stood up and gave Spike a thumbs up. “Transport secured, there’s a shuttle leaving in thirty minutes.”

“Where’s it headed?” Jet asked.

“We don’t know,” Spike said.

“What?”

“Well, you’ll know, once you get on,” Spike amended. “I just meant that we, Shin, Faye, and I, we don’t know. We can’t know, really.”

Jet nodded, understanding. “In case Vicious gets to you. Smart.”

Spike lifted the corner of his mouth in an approximation of a smile.

“How will we contact you?” Jet asked. “When you get to Vicious, we should be in the clear, right?”

Spike looked away, fidgeting. “Uh, you don’t, Jet. The plan is to cut all ties. We can’t risk Vicious getting any information, whichever of us he decides to come after. So just lie low, as long as you can. I’m sure Ed can find us wherever, but don’t come looking, at least not for a while.”

That finally made Jet feel something. A little shiver of fear, the idea that Vicious could come for him and Ed, even if he found Spike first. But he just shook his head. They could disappear; they’ve all done it before. Only this time, they’ll be split apart. Jet thought briefly of their trip to Earth, when Faye and Ed had left.

It was happening again—the positions were just shuffled around. It made Jet’s heart hurt, but not as much as he imagined it would.

Perhaps everyone felt the way he did, because they were all virtually silent as they left the apartment. Jet said a silent _fuck you_ to the building as they stepped out of the elevator and into the lobby. A nondescript car appeared on the side of the street, and Spike climbed behind the wheel. Shin didn’t get in, only clapped a hand on Jet’s shoulder before vanishing quietly into the masses on the sidewalk.

The car ride was silent as well, save for Ein’s occasional yips and yawns. Ed toyed with the window, raising it up and down, but no one reprimanded her. Jet racked his brain for something to say, a goodbye, or a thank you, anything really, but he came up empty. _Besides,_ he reasoned, _we’ll all see each other again. Sometime, somewhere._

And, perhaps most important of all, none of them were very good with goodbyes.

They made it to the spaceport with little interference, and before he knew it, Jet was standing at the shuttle gate, with only the clothes on his back and Ed and Ein by his side. The Bebop would stay in Tharsis, collecting dust and rusting away, but Jet knew, deep down, that he’d see it again. They all would.

A voice broke over the intercom, announcing a final boarding call. Ed bounded forward excitedly, barely remembering to wave at Spike and Faye before flopping into a seat. But that was always Ed’s way, Jet thought. Never looking back, always ready to move on. Not a bad sentiment, and certainly one he needed right now.

Still, he couldn’t help but stand at the bay doors, watching quietly until the shuttle was fully boarded and preparing for take-off. He dimly heard the pilot instructing everyone to their seats, and he risked one more look at the boarding gate. Spike and Faye were still there, standing close, and Jet could’ve sworn their hands were intertwined. He smirked at that. _At least something’s turned out right._ He heard Ed call for him, and he almost turned to go, but stopped.

Spike was looking back at him now, with those two-tone eyes that Jet knew he’d remember as long as he lived. Spike raised his hand, and Jet waved back, a final farewell between friends.

_Best friends._

Spike grinned, and saluted as the doors slid closed, the ship preparing to take Jet, Ed, and Ein far, far away, to their next adventure among the stars. Jet let his hand fall, a melancholy smile on his face.

“See you, kid. Sometime, somewhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exit stage right, Jet, Ed, and Ein :( 
> 
> Well, it was about time for Jet's story to come to an end; he's gone through all the character development I'd originally planned and then some. I always thought it would have been good for Jet and Ed to have stayed together at the end of the show. Like I've said, I think Jet thrives off taking care of people, and Ed is so sweet and silly she deserves to have someone good looking after her. 
> 
> This chapter was definitely a shorter one, comparatively, and much less dialogue, but I think Spike and Jet pretty much worked out what they needed to back on the Bebop, so this was like a little addendum to Jet's storyline, essentially. Still, it was important to the plot, as you shall soon see ;)
> 
> Also, I finally put up an ending number for the chapters; I sat down and worked out the rest of the plot, or at least how I want it to go. Hopefully you all are still enjoying the story, and I promise I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve.
> 
> Also also, I hope to have the next chapter up sometime later this week--trying to make up for my unintended hiatus!


	25. All That Is Fine, and Satin, and Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faye and Spike share a dance, again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New update! Sorry again for the wait, but I keep getting caught up in other stuff. Still planning to finish this though, and I've written a good chunk of the last two chapters already, so hopefully those will be up sooner than later. Thanks to everyone who's still reading!

It had been three months. Three months since Jet and Ed had left, since Vicious had vanished, since he’d kissed Faye. They’d been both the best and the hardest three months of Spike’s life.

The best because some mornings, he got to be that wonderful person Faye woke up next to. In another time, he’d kick himself for getting so sentimental, but it was easy to fall into. Especially since Faye was typically the one smacking him out of it.

The hardest because every night, he checked all the rooms for intruders, and triple locked the apartment door. Not that a door would stop Vicious. Nothing would stop Vicious, except a bullet; Spike saw that now. He should’ve seen it sooner, before, and then maybe he’d still have Jet. But no, Jet would’ve left anyway, he had to.

Sometimes things just had to happen, Spike knew that better than anyone. He missed Jet and Ed more than he’d ever admit, but the pain of it faded little by little each day, his heart scarring over again, healing in tandem with the bullet hole in his side.

But every day, he woke up, and every night, he went to sleep, and in between, he worried. Worried about Jet, worried about Ed, worried about the Dragon, worried about Vicious, worried about Faye. Hell, the only time he didn’t worry was when they were alone, and she took up so much space that he couldn’t possibly think of anything else. She was good at that, being seen, and he liked, maybe even loved, her for it.

But then she’d leave, and he’d worry again. She was good at being seen, and Vicious had always had a sharp eye. He was out there somewhere; Spike could feel it. Just like he could feel Julia, for so long, so close yet just beyond his reach. It was the limbo that killed him, the pause in the action he never quite learned how to live with.

Mao had once said that’s when you’re supposed to live, in those pockets of quiet. When nothing’s ahead, and nothing’s behind, and all you’ve got is the hand in front of your face. But Spike’s hand had always been twitchy, his trigger finger itching for a gun.

He thought of Mao, each time he found a gray hair. It seemed like every time he looked in the mirror, there’d be a new one, a little strip of silver flashing back at him. Time marched on, but Spike had never imagined it would tread on him so firmly. Faye pretended not to notice, but he saw the way she looked at him, secretly mapping the lines that spread from his eyes and deepened at the corners of his mouth.

Still, she never said anything, just kept living her own life. They were together, he guessed, but not in a way anyone would label as traditional. They spent a lot of time apart, actually, both engrossed in their jobs and their own day-to-day problems. But the nights, those they often spent together, closer than ever.

He found himself telling her things, speaking quietly in the dark, things he’d never told anyone before, not even himself. She was just as open, and in the morning, they’d look at each other, knowing they were in too deep to back out now. They both knew too much. But they wanted to know. Some nights they didn’t talk at all, though, and Spike was torn between which ones he preferred.

Because the sex, God, the sex was amazing. They fucked the way they fought, teasing and light, right up to the point they got deadly serious, and then nobody was left standing.

So yeah, it had been three months, and Spike felt like everything had changed, but, somehow, everything was exactly the same.

When Jet and Ed had left, he’d practically begged Faye to go with them, but she’d refused. He should’ve expected it, really, maybe even tried some reverse psychology on her, but in the end no amount of fearmongering could convince her to leave. He’d even told her about the one time Vicious had killed a guy with nothing but a pencil, and she just shook her head and asked if it was sharpened or not.

And he realized, about a week after, that she was probably the only thing keeping him together, so he stopped being angry, and just kept worrying.

He was worrying now, in fact, probably at the worst possible time, but the fact that there were maybe three hundred people in this church, and he couldn’t see all of them was enough to send his heart rate skyrocketing.

Lola and Shin were getting married, finally, and he’d found himself as the best man. He was standing up at the front now, Shin next to him and trying not to cry, with Faye across from them as the maid of honor. He shouldn’t have been surprised, really. She was Lola’s best friend, after all. But thinking of himself or Faye doing traditional stuff was such a foreign concept that he could barely get his head around it.

He would normally be unable to take his eyes off her, in that slinky satin dress she was wearing, something that felt almost pornographic in contrast to the fucking _church_ they were standing in. But he was trying to think with his head at the moment, not his dick, so he found his gaze landing anywhere but her and her fantastic tits, tucked neatly into an emerald green package of crisscrossing threads and ties she’d already whispered he could unwrap after the reception.

Suddenly, Lola was walking down the aisle, all eyes glued on her and her wedding dress that Faye had told him cost more than three months of their rent. Spike wasn’t looking though, too busy scanning the crowd, looking for that familiar glint of silver hair.

The whole ceremony passed by in a daze. He could feel Faye throwing glances at him, but he still kept searching, scrutinizing each and every face and triple checking entrance points. It didn’t matter that more than half the Dragon was either in the crowd or standing guard, Spike knew it wouldn’t mean shit if Vicious was determined enough.

And that look he gave Spike, when he said he would kill him—it was filled with so much hate that it could only be true.

There were whispers, of course, throughout the city. Rumors of a man, whip-thin and deadly silent, with hair to his waist and hands as cold as ice. It was said he snuck into rooms at night, slitting the throats of people who dared to look at him in the light of day. ISSP had found the bodies to prove it. Then, people said, he would cut out their hearts and eat them, laughing over the corpse with a dark chuckle he learned from the devil.

That part, Spike knew, was completely unfounded.

What _was_ real were the reports he’d gotten from his lieutenants, eye-witness accounts from reliable sources, that Vicious was still in Tharsis. That eased Spike’s worries, marginally, because that meant he wasn’t after Jet and Ed, wherever the fuck they’d flown off to. Spike knew Ed could find anything, if he wanted to try and send an encrypted message or something, but he had already made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t. Not until Vicious was dead, or Spike died trying to make him that way.

That was another promise—he would be the one to kill Vicious. Shin was against that idea, unsurprisingly, but Spike had never felt more sure about anything in his life. Besides, he knew Vicious would never let himself be caught by the ISSP, or the Dragon, and certainly not by Spike himself. He would draw Spike to him, like he always did—it was only a matter of time. That was their game, really. Spike ran away, and Vicious waited, coiled up and ready to strike, until Spike’s path crossed over his again. And then someone always got hurt, not just them.

Collateral damage, their love letters to one another, the bodies littering the ground and the smoke clogging the air their most fond hello and their most practiced goodbye.

So Spike was on high-alert today, the possibility of Vicious’ attack too prevalent and so obvious he almost knew it wouldn’t happen. But he was still looking for it, anyway. In the end, there was no commotion, no swishing sound of a katana, and Spike let himself relax just the tiniest bit as they all filed out of the church, Shin crying in earnest now. Faye slipped up next to him and grabbed his hand. He was surprised; she normally never did that around other people, but they were so awash in the crowd that no one noticed.

The reception was, of course, at Fantaisie, and Spike spent most of it propped against the back wall with a glass of single malt in his hand. Faye was busy, running around making sure everything was working smoothly, and Lola and Shin were too wrapped up in being head-over-heels in love to notice anyone other than each other. So Spike kept to himself, watching quietly and drinking steadily until the newlyweds left for their honeymoon and the guests slowly trickled out to make their way home.

An hour later, Spike found himself alone, waiting patiently for Faye to finish up with something in her office. He wandered over to the stereo in the corner of the room, fingers skimming absently through the countless tapes that a frankly over-paid DJ had been playing all night. He stopped at one, and, smiling, popped it in. Soft sax kicked in, and he closed his eyes for a minute, letting the familiar notes wash over him. Right now, for this one second, he was peaceful. Nothing to worry about, the weight of the world no longer pressing down on his shoulders.

“Are you going to ask me to dance?”

Spike opened his eyes slowly to see Faye standing in front of him, hands on her hips.

“Didn’t know you wanted to,” he replied, smirking, before he strode forward and grabbed her hand, pulling her to the middle of the floor. They fit together easily; he still remembered the steps from last time. _Last time. God, that feels like ages ago._

He danced with her for a few minutes, one song fading out into another, and then another, before he forced himself to speak. There was a conversation, one hovering at the corners of his mind for the past three months, that demanded to be had. Now, while they were alone, while he wasn’t distracted by his fears or Faye’s hands or Vicious’ ever-looming presence, now was the time to have it. He took a breath.

“I’ve been doing some thinking,” he began. And he had, between all the worrying.

Faye smirked. “Well, that’s always a dangerous move.”

He almost retorted with a quip, something that would send them headlong into those teasing, easy conversations he enjoyed so much, but he kept silent, reminding himself what he needed to ask her. He couldn’t go on like this; they both knew it. He cleared his throat.

“Remember when you asked me about the Dragon? If I ever thought about leaving?” He was surprised to hear uncertainty in his voice, an edge of doubt.

“Mmm.” Faye’s eyes were closed now, still swaying to the music. “You said it was stupid.”

He had, but he’d forgotten about that until now. _Not a good start, Spiegel._

“Well, what if-” He swallowed, cursing his throat for constricting. His body was betraying him in all kinds of ways these days. Another reason he needed to ask her this. He kept going.

“What if it isn’t? Stupid, I mean. At least, not anymore.”

“Oh?” Faye’s voice was quiet, and Spike wondered if she was even really listening.

“That’s what I’ve been thinking about.”

Faye opened her eyes, but she kept moving, so Spike did too, still dancing in time with the slow, steady beat.

“Thinking about leaving, you mean,” she said. She looked up at him, eyes unreadable, but blazing with something that made him nervous.

Spike nodded. “I can’t keep doing it, not forever.” He dropped his gaze, like a fucking coward, but he was always scared lately. Faye sighed against him.

“Well, shit. I could’ve told you that.” There was a pause. “Is that why you did this?”

He suddenly felt Faye’s hand in his hair, running her fingers through it. It didn’t take long, because his hair was short again, like it was when they’d first met. He chopped it off a week ago, and almost gave her a heart attack when he walked into her apartment later that day. She thought he was an intruder and almost shot him, but he didn’t take it personally. He was used to her pointing guns at him. It made for some good foreplay, they’d quickly discovered.

“Maybe,” he mused, looking at her again. “Trying to get back to my old self, I guess. Or escape from him, I don’t know. Whatever the fuck it takes to stop looking back.”

Faye shrugged. “Stop turning around then.”

He felt his mouth drop open a little. The way her mind worked, it never ceased to amaze him. Such a simple answer to such a complicated question, one he’d been wrestling with for so many sleepless nights now. And she’d solved it, just like that.

He was getting out. He had to. He would, no matter what. Then the only question left was-

“Would you come with me?”

Faye stopped dancing, and they ground to a halt.

“Would I come with you?” He saw a flash of anger cross her face, and he didn’t know why. “Would I come with you?” she repeated, louder. “How can you ask me that?”

Spike stared at her, at a loss. “I- because I…”

“Because you want to be free, yeah, Spike, I know!” she snapped. “That’s what makes you happiest, remember? Being fucking free. But me, I already am happy. I told you that. I love my life. I love my job. I love having a warm bed to sleep in every night, having good food, a goddamn walk-in closet—I love having _money,_ Spike. And you want me to give all that up, to come with you.”

Spike could only blink, as the weight of her words crashed over him. Because what could he offer her, in place of all that? Some good sex and a bottle of whiskey?

He knew himself, and apparently, she did too. He could leave the Dragon easily, disappear completely with a disgusting amount of woolongs and stay in luxurious obscurity for the rest of his life, however long that was. But he wouldn’t be happy, not really.

Spike lived for the action. That’s what made him feel _alive_. So he wouldn’t be happy in Faye’s perfect world, and she wouldn’t be happy in his either, jumping from place to place, not stopping for even a moment, even though he could.

But if she wanted to be selfish, couldn’t he? And he couldn’t, wouldn’t, hold it against her, to hold on to what she wanted. Even if those things added up to mean more than him. Hell, that’s what he thought about, what he worried about. How did he stack up to what she had? How did she compare to what he wanted?

Maybe that’s why he waited so long to have this conversation. These questions were too big to answer alone. But they were too personal to answer together. The kind of questions that would see them bonded forever, or torn apart. And he wasn’t sure he wanted either of those things.

Spike was lukewarm. Always had been. Not fire, not ice. An indifferent man with an indifferent life. But he still cared, more than he should, and that’s what killed him so many times over. What might kill him again, tonight.

Faye spoke, her voice quiet and even.

“I want you to get out, Spike, but I don’t want you to _leave._ ”

She’d just done it again. Distilled it down to something simple, black and white. When he got out, because he _would_ , would he stay? Or go?

That’s the thought that kept him up at night, and probably ate at her too, in ways he’d never understand or realized until this moment.

“Would you come,” he asked, “if I could promise to do what you want? Be what you want?”

It was a stupid question, but he’d rather have Faye on her terms than no Faye at all. She shook her head, and he felt his heart cracking, just a little. It wasn’t over, just another choice he couldn’t make, another escape route cut off.

“Why not?” he whispered. He knew what she was going to say, but he needed to hear it. She sighed against him before answering, her voice full of something he would almost dare to describe as pain.

“I’m not the first woman you’ve asked.”

And there it was, the last barrier between them. It had hovered over them, a pale shadow with blonde hair and a red coat, and Spike had been too busy, too hurt, too worried, too _everything_ , to even consider discussing it. But Faye had been under that shadow for too long; he would be cruel to keep ignoring it.

And if he didn’t have the courage to speak now, he never would. He gripped her more tightly, willing her to understand.

“Faye,” he said carefully, “I know you aren’t her; you aren’t-” he swallowed thickly, forcing himself to say her name. “I know you aren’t Julia. And I’ve never asked you to be. She’s gone, and you’re here, and I don’t want to have to live in between.”

Faye stared at him, and he was surprised at the fierceness of her gaze. “You once told me—your eyes—one sees the present, and one sees the past. Living in between, Spike, that’s all you do. That’s all you can do. You’ll always be that way, split in two, past and present. And how can I compete with that?”

Spike sighed. “Don’t you realize you’re a part of both?” She opened her mouth, but shut it just as quickly. “You’re in my past, you’re in my present, and shit, Faye,” he said, taking a breath, “I want you in my future.”

Faye dropped her eyes, and Spike couldn’t read the emotion that had flashed within them. He waited, hoping she would look up again, but she didn’t. She didn’t do anything for a long time, only held onto him as the music continued to play, and they slowly began to dance again.

It felt like, for some terrible reason, they were about to say goodbye.

The last track faded out, and they were left standing in the silence, until she finally looked up at him again.

“Will you stay?” she asked, voice barely a whisper, “or will you go?”

He’d had long enough to think of his answer. What was so complicated before, now as easy as pulling a trigger. _Whatever happens, happens._

“I think I’ll try to live somewhere in between.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be completely honest, when I first started writing this chapter, I had that conversation going an entirely different, much more sentimental direction, but I couldn't get it right, and it felt out of character for both of them, so we ended up with this bittersweet, melancholy mess instead. But I prefer it that way, I think it rings more true to the show and the way they live their lives. Hope you're all surviving!
> 
> So, Vicious is still lurking somewhere out there. He's bound to turn up again; they always do.
> 
> Come back next chapter to find out!


	26. Anything Goes, So Take Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faye repeats something from her past. But this time, everything's different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated again! Sorry this is a much shorter chapter, but my original outline for it changed sooooo much after I switched up things in the last chapter. Hope you guys still enjoy it!

She saw him last.

She felt him first, hard, calloused fingers against the base of her neck, squeezing pressure points until everything faded to black.

She smelled him next, smoke and oil and ash, as she blinked back into consciousness, slumped against a pile of rubble.

Then she heard him, as he stepped back into the shadows, his katana scrapping over the stone floor.

“Spike. Where is he.”

Faye shook her head, trying to clear it. She’d been walking home from work when he grabbed her. She should’ve seen it coming, but all these months of quiet had made her sloppy.

“I don’t know,” she said. It was the truth.

She and Spike had sort of danced, sort of fought, and sort of said goodbye two months ago, and he’d been back and forth ever since. Shin was running things at the Dragon now, working harder than ever to bring it over to the more legitimate sides of business. They still did plenty of illegal activities, making and running Red Eye, and a few other smuggling ops, but now Shin was in so tight with the Tharsis government that he was basically untouchable. That made Faye feel better; Lola would be fine, if anything went wrong. But she doubted it would, because Shin was good at his job. Spike would’ve have trusted him with it, if he wasn’t.

Spike himself left pretty quickly, and Faye thought for those first few weeks he was gone that she’d never see him again. But he came back in the end, like he said he would. They settled into a routine after that—he would stop by when he was in town, and she wouldn’t ask how long he was planning to stay. It wasn’t perfect, but they never had been in the first place.

He’d left again, just a few days ago, so Faye honestly had no idea where he was now.

“Think he’ll come for you.”

_Threat? Or casual conversation?_

That’s when Faye noticed her hands weren’t tied. She wasn’t bound or gagged; there was nothing holding her here, save his menacing presence behind her.

_Where is here, anyway?_

She sat up and looked around, or, at least, she tried to, peering through the gloom. It took her a few moments, but then she got it. Of course he brought her here. It was only fitting.

The church, from so long ago, when he’d kidnapped her the first time. Spike had come to save her then, but she wasn’t so sure he’d come now.

Yet, this time, she felt totally at ease. He didn’t scare her anymore, not the way he used to. _Whatever happens, happens._ Spike had taught her that, and it was sticking. She wasn’t being held hostage, she realized. She was being hosted, brought here for a conversation, to keep him company while they waited.

But Spike was God knows where, so they could be waiting for a long time.

“He might,” she finally replied. “You sure know how to push his buttons.”

“He just likes to play the hero. I’m giving him another chance.”

Faye personally thought Spike was pretty far from heroic, but she guessed when you compared the two of them, Spike would come out on top. He at least killed people with a gun, instead of a sword.

She could hear that sword, scraping against the ground as he paced back and forth. Part of her wanted to talk with him, and part of her was content to just keep sitting on this chunk of rock, waiting until either Spike showed up or he got bored enough to let her go.

Though, there was another, wilder part of her that wondered what would happen if she just tried to walk out.

“I saw him. On Titan.”

His voice was closer now, rough as ever.

“Who? Spike?”

Maybe he had gone as crazy as people said. Maybe the rumors were true. Spike was with him the whole time on Titan, she knew. That’s how Spike got shot in the first place. She wondered if he showed up now, if he’d get shot again. With her fucking gun, probably, because he _had_ taken that.

“No. Him.”

And then Faye understood. There was only one him. She almost said his name, but she remembered the threat from before, bloody hands on her throat and fiery hate in his eyes.

“Where?”

“His ship. He was in it.”

“How was he?”

“Dead.”

Well, she expected that. Gren had died long ago, probably even before he landed back on Titan.

“He told you about me.”

Another one of his damn pseudo-questions. She was tired of it.

“Yeah. Not much.”

“What did he say.”

She thought about it, trying to recall. It had been so long now, and everything he’d told her was surrounded by an aura of mystery. She only knew what she could interpret, and that, like she said, wasn’t much.

“He said you were comrades.”

“Comrades.” He spat out the word so bitterly, so scathingly it made Faye flinch. “But he kept this.”

_This?_

She heard his katana, scraping, closer and closer, until he finally emerged from the shadows to stand in front of her. She couldn’t help the way her breath caught in her throat.

The last time she saw him, he’d been walking off the Bebop, tailing Spike like a shadow, silent and somber and smooth.

He was nothing like that now.

His eyes were red, the bruises under them a deep, dark purple that no amount of sleep could remove. He was pulled taut, ready to snap. She could see his hand, where it gripped the katana, shaking with tension, with whatever the hell was tearing him apart inside. His hair was wild, his clothes torn, and his skin was deathly pale, like he hadn’t seen the sun in months. Maybe he hadn’t.

He used to look intimidating. Now Vicious looked utterly unhinged.

He shoved a trembling hand, the one not holding his katana, in her face, and she saw what he was referring to. She almost gasped again, because it was something she’d seen before. And she realized, in the next breath, that this is what Vicious had been holding, after Titan.

It was the photo.

From Gren’s apartment, the one that tipped her off, the one she’d seen right before Vicious had called and she’d ambushed Gren in the shower. And then, of course, she’d learned his secret, his life story.

All because of this damn picture. Gren smirking at the camera, Vicious glowering in the background. Ripped down the middle, taped back together. She wondered what that said about Gren, about their relationship. How Vicious interpreted it, when he saw it.

“Where…where did you find that?” she asked, voice thick around the lump in her throat. It made her blood run cold, the thought of Vicious ransacking Gren’s apartment.

“He was holding it.”

Not his apartment then. His ship. On Titan. Gren was holding it, as he died. Gren was holding it, and then he died.

“Why did he keep it.”

Faye blinked up at him, eyes wide.

“Why did he keep it,” he repeated.

She shook her head. She didn’t know. She’d never known, not really. If Vicious couldn’t figure it out, then no one could. Only Gren had the answer, and he was dead.

“Why did he keep it!” he shouted suddenly, his voice like broken glass.

But all she could do was shake her head. “I don’t know. He never said.”

Vicious slammed the photo into the wall above her, snarling. He was breathing harshly now, and she could see his body shaking. She wondered when he’d slept last. Or eaten. Or anything really, besides lived on spite and hate and a thirst for revenge.

That’s why she was here now, she supposed. He wanted revenge.

But on who? For what?

It couldn’t be Spike, not anymore. All their past was dead and gone, buried in some secret place beside Julia’s body.

It wasn’t her. If it was, she’d already be dead.

Gren, maybe. He’d haunted Vicious long enough, even when Vicious was too cruel to feel it. But now, he was starting to see the ghosts, creeping in at the edges of his vision and invading the darker corners of his mind.

She wondered what he’d dreamt about, when he was in the coma. If Gren ever came to him, asked him things, the way he did to her. Things like, ‘ _why didn’t you stop me?’_ and _‘have you forgotten me?’_

_‘Don’t forget me.’_

“Don’t forget him.”

Faye was shocked to hear herself speak. Vicious regarded her with those awful, cold eyes. They weren’t so cold now, not with so much unchecked emotion in them. Anger, hate, fear.

Regret.

_Forget or regret?_

“How can I.” Vicious said slowly. “when I close my eyes, and he’s the only thing I can see.”

He shook his head, backing away tiredly, glancing down at the picture again and whispering to himself.

“Why did he keep it.”

Faye stood up gingerly, waiting to see if he would react. But Vicious didn’t even notice her. He was looking at the photo, as it was slowly crushed within his trembling hand.

“Why did he keep it.”

Faye took one careful step, then another. Still nothing. Then she took another, and another, and another, until she was walking normally, the exit in her sights. She didn’t bother to try and get her gun. It was just a gun.

Whatever was happening to Vicious was much more than that.

She was at the doors now, could feel the light misting of rain on her face. She glanced back, just once.

Vicious was on his knees now, silver hair illuminated by the broken stained glass window, katana shining just as bright. His head was bowed, eyes fixed on the picture, like if he looked away, he’d die.

Faye took a breath, squaring her shoulders, before stepping out of the church and leaving him, leaving Gren, leaving all of it, finally, finally, behind her.

The whisper followed her, just once, riding softly on the wind, through the rain.

“Why did he keep it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. So that's what Vicious stole from under Spike's bed. Did anyone guess it?
> 
> Alright, everyone, we're down to the last chapter. It's hard to believe, but here we are! Thanks again for coming along for the ride, can't wait to finish it out!
> 
> No sneak peeks, but I'm sure you can guess where it's heading.


	27. Green Bird (Reprise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vicious regrets. And Vicious forgets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE LAST CHAPTER!!!!! This is so crazy, but I'm really happy with how it all turned out. I feel like it might feel kind of unfinished to some people, in terms of some of the plot endings, but I feel like that's reflective of the show. I wanted to leave things more open-ended, and have a few things up to everyone's interpretation.
> 
> That being said, it's absolutely wild to me that we got this far with this. I've had this ending in my head for a while, and I think honestly this was my favorite chapter to write. Here we go!

The picture was gone, now. He’d shredded it, crushed it to nothing in his hands. His damn hands, that wouldn’t stop, couldn’t stop, shaking, not since they’d come back from Titan.

_No. Don’t._

He couldn’t think about Titan, about _him,_ anymore. It was destroying him.

It didn’t matter now though; he was going to die anyway.

She’d left, he realized. Sometime earlier, in all the hazy chaos that was his mind, she’d slipped out of his grasp.

That didn’t matter either. She didn’t have the answers he wanted. And now he was sure.

Vicious was going to die.

It was just a matter of time. He was waiting for it now, hunched against the rocks with his sword at his side.

Footsteps, outside the church. Quiet, but not enough. Vicious was sure that was intentional. That he wanted to be heard.

Closer now.

_Three._

_Two._

_One._

He lifted his head. Spike was standing in front of him, gun drawn, eyes hard.

“I see you found me.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “You’re dramatic.”

Vicious nodded. “Maybe so. But it got you here.”

“Don’t know why I didn’t look here first, really. Losing my touch, I guess. But Faye tipped me off in the end.”

“She said she didn’t know where you were.”

Spike shrugged. “She didn’t. I just got back.”

“Planning to leave again?”

“Got to take care of this first, don’t I?”

Vicious sighed. He certainly did. He held Spike’s gaze for a moment, wondering if he should say it. If it would reveal too much, make him suspect. Didn’t matter now.

“Last night…I dreamt of the dragon. Of the ouroboros.”

Spike tilted his head, suddenly curious. “What did it tell you?”

The old story Mao had told them, so many years ago. Spike remembered it too. How it came to you in dreams, spoke wisdom into your life. How to repeat the past, or how to avoid it. The dragon was a symbol of strength, judgment, pride. To hear it speak was an honor few received. One he certainly never did. And never would.

“Nothing.”

“It didn't speak?” Spike smirked at that. He always did like to see Vicious unbalanced, refused something he desperately wanted.

Vicious exhaled. “It swallowed me.”

“Is that why you surfaced, finally? Time to repeat your past?”

So he didn’t suspect, not yet. That was good. It would make this easier.

Vicious only nodded, standing up slowly. Spike tensed, of course he did, because he wasn’t a fool. Vicious raised his sword, wondering if Spike noticed the way it trembled in his hands. His fucking useless hands. All of him was useless, now. He’d been eaten by the dragon, chewed up and dissolved into nothingness.

It was only right his body should follow.

“Time to end it,” he said. “No more repeats. This is it.”

Spike smirked, leveling his gun. “Fine with me.”

They paused, eyeing each other, letting the tension build. And then, in the same instant, they snapped. Spike’s gun sounded off, brilliantly loud, and Vicious’ sword swung, achingly quiet. They missed each other, but that was fine. This was just the practice round.

They crashed into one another, just like last time, grunting and growling and snarling like the beasts they were, until they pulled apart again. Their weapons had skittered across the floor, and Vicious didn’t hesitate to dive for Spike’s gun.

_This is how it’s supposed to go._

Spike, in turn, took up his katana. They paused again, panting. Another moment of tension, stretching thin and brittle in the air.

“Alright,” Spike said, cocking his head with a smirk. “Give it back.”

Vicious just shook his head. “Not this time.”

Spike blinked, and then his face hardened. “If that’s how you want it.”

He hefted the katana, adjusting it in his grip. Vicious almost winced at the movement. He held it wrong. Like it was a bat, or a stick. But his sword was more elegant, more refined. It deserved better. Still, this was the only way. The only way he’d win. Spike’s gun in his hand, and his sword in Spike’s.

“Let’s finish this,” Spike said. “Again.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. And then they snapped again, running towards each other, weapons raised.

Vicious felt the blade, slipping right between his ribs, soft as a whisper and sharp as broken glass. It was cold. But he liked the cold. He liked this. This is what he’d wanted, ever since he woke up again.

He’d thought, for a little while, that he could move on. That he wouldn’t be consumed by the rage and the hate and the overwhelming fear. But then, the dreams came, and they went to Titan, and all he could think about was getting them to stop.

And this was the only way.

It had to be this way, had to be Spike. Spike called him dramatic, and he guessed that was true enough. Because this was his design, his plan since the beginning. And now, finally, finally, at the end, it came to pass.

He coughed, felt the blood coating the inside of his mouth come spilling out over his lips. Spike was up against him, breathing hard. Vicious was too, but not for the same reasons. Spike pulled out the sword with a wet snicking sound, and Vicious couldn’t stop the groan that escaped him.

Spike stood back, and Vicious collapsed to one knee, hand dropping to anchor himself. He felt a dull crack, somewhere deep in his wrist, but it was nothing compared to the cold spreading out steadily from his heart. His other hand went slack, and Spike’s gun, unaimed, unfired, unused, went clattering to the ground.

He glanced up, breath wheezing out of his chest. Spike was gaping at him, face pale, his two-tone eyes wide. Vicious remembered the day he got that eye. The bloody accident. The operation that came after. The subtle change in him, after it was done. Quieter, more reflective. More violent. More like Vicious.

“Why didn’t- why didn’t you shoot?”

Vicious didn’t answer. He was too busy dying.

His hand gave out and he fell, slamming against the stone. He barely felt it. He barely felt anything.

“Vicious. Why didn’t you shoot?”

“Had to be this way,” he said. His voice still worked, apparently. So he was dying, but he wasn’t dead. Not yet. But soon. “Had to be you.”

Spike shook his head. “Fuck you. It didn’t have to. You just wanted it that way. You’re a selfish bastard, you know that? You’ve tormented me for so fucking long. Just for it to come to this.”

Vicious forced his gaze to Spike’s, uncurling his legs and lying flat. Spike seemed so tall now, towering above him. The victor. Just like he planned.

“I told you it would. You didn’t listen.”

Spike let the katana drop from his hand; it clattered to the ground as he bent to retrieve his gun. Vicious half expected him to shoot then and there, but he just checked the magazine and shoved it back in his holster.

“Because I thought we could move on. I thought we could stop repeating the past, V.”

_Ah. V. He’s still holding on. When all we should do is let go. Beasts like us, we don’t last for long._

He was so close now, the stone beneath him wet with his blood. He lifted a hand to find it soaked in red. Not that it surprised him. This was the way these things went, after all. It was strange, to be on the other side of it now, after so many years where he was the one to wield the sword.

Spike was still looking at him, with a face that would inscrutable to almost anyone but Vicious. There was relief there, he could see. He’d soon be gone, and Spike would be free. For the first time in a long time. Vicious would be free too. _Don’t they say death is the final escape?_

And there wasn’t an inch of regret. Vicious was glad for that. Spike shouldn’t have, never had, regrets. _What happens, happens._ His favorite saying. Vicious had always thought he was an idiot for thinking that way, for letting life toss him around like he was nothing.

But he was the one still standing, and Vicious, full of hate and ambition and much too much regret, was the one bleeding out on the ground. It was fate, of course, something left over from the first time they’d tried this. After that, everything was just borrowed time. It had run out now, finally, blessedly, and he could be done. Vicious felt it, slipping away faster and faster, as he raced towards the end. That was fine.

He’d never been a patient man anyway.

He coughed again, deep and wet, the blood spurting out. So much red. It was strange to see. So much color, for someone like him, living in shades of grey.

Red. It made him think of Julia, for the briefest moment. She was gone, and he would be too. Only Spike would be left. He’d have to keep on, without them. But Spike would be fine. He was before, and he would be again. _Whatever happens, happens._

Julia. What had separated them in the first place, what they’d fought about in this church, so long ago, along with everything else. And now they had fought again, or, at least, Spike had. Vicious, killed with his own weapon. Spike as his second, helping him die.

There was just one thing, only one, that felt off. That swam at the back of his mind, waiting to be recognized, to be brought to light. What was different, this time. The one other thing he wanted Spike to do, that he hadn’t.

And then he remembered.

“Should’ve…should’ve shot me too,” he rasped.

Spike quirked an eyebrow. Vicious’ eyes bounced around the church, trying to convey what his rapidly failing words could not. “Full circle…” he whispered. “…ouroboros.”

His hand scrabbled for his katana; he wanted it with him, at the very end. His truest companion, his most precious. He felt the hilt and tugged on it, pulling the sword to rest against his chest. Now he was ready. Ready to let go, once and for all.

The ground was even colder now, but he barely felt it. Everything was numb, his lips, his hands, his legs. Only his eyes, it seemed, were holding on, and he trained them on Spike.

_The same blood runs through both of us._

His oldest enemy, his oldest friend, his destroyer—his savior.

_The blood of a beast who wanders…_

Spike raised his hand in a gesture he’d seen many times before. Vicious smiled, his first true smile in years, and closed his eyes.

_I’ve bled all that kind of blood away._

“Bang.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow.
> 
> I know I already said this, but it's just crazy that I finished this. I had such a fun time writing it, and such a great experience writing fic for the first time. A gigantic thank you to everyone who commented and left kudos, as well as everyone who read it, you guys were so inspiring and I love that so many other people out there love Bebop like I do. Thanks everyone, you're all truly the best, and I loved being on this journey with you.
> 
> See you, space cowboys!


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